Mending a Broken Man
by Sanqhian
Summary: Part two. House thought he was done dealing with people from his past. But the last person on the planet that he expected to see could turn out to be something more. slash
1. What was I Thinkin?

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash.

* * *

**Chapter One: What Was I Thinkin?**

House stood outside on the patio that joined his office. He had to get away from the world of the hospital and all the demands that were being made on him. It had only been a month since his return and already he felt like he was losing his mind. Of course, it didn't really help matters that his team was treating him differently. They weren't supposed to treat him this way. They were supposed to treat him like they used to do. Now Cameron would giggle every time she saw him with Wilson. She probably didn't realize she was doing. Not that he really cared. It was annoying either way. Both Chase and Foreman gave him looks, the kind that said they knew his deepest secret. And his friendship with Cuddy hadn't been repaired. They spoke to each other as little as possible. Either she was furious with him or she couldn't figure out the best way to apologize. That was one part of his life that he didn't really care about. Cuddy had caused him enough heartbreak and he still had the scars to prove it.

He traced a finger lightly across the scar on his arm. It would forever be a constant reminder of those days when he couldn't handle the pain. A reminder of the days when he finally confessed to Wilson how he truly felt. And Wilson did likewise. Nothing had really been the same between them since. To be perfectly honest, House wasn't sure he liked where they stood. Yes, he'd grown to love having Wilson around nearly twenty-four-seven again. They'd shared some kisses and even slept in the same bed, without really going to the next step. And it wasn't that which bothered him. He wasn't sure he could love Wilson. It had been so long since he closed his heart off to the world that maybe he'd forgotten how to love. The last thing he really wanted to do was hurt Wilson to the point of driving him away forever. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if that happened.

"What are you doing out here?"

House turned to find Cameron standing behind him. She had always felt something for him, and had never been afraid to let him know. So why couldn't he love her? At least loving a woman was normal. He was in love with his best friend, a man, and he still wasn't sure how he really felt about that. How would things have turned out if it had been Cameron at his door all the time instead of Wilson when he really needed help? Would he have fallen in love with her? No, he knew deep down that he couldn't ever love Cameron. He wasn't even going to admit to liking her company. If he couldn't admit to that, he couldn't ever love her. At least, that's how he seemed to rationalize it. That was one of many thoughts he would have to keep to himself. Not everyone understood his "House" logic.

"I was getting some fresh air," he replied, leaning all his weight on his cane. His leg was giving him hell today that was the real reason he had left the hospital for the quiet outdoors. "Still following after me like a sick puppy dog? Don't let Wilson catch you. As far as he's concerned I'm his property now. Don't want to have an oncologist giving you the evil eye, do you?"

Cameron just crossed her arms over her chest. "I could care less if Wilson gave me the evil eye. Just because the two of you are shacking up together doesn't mean I have to stop caring about you." A breeze sent the leaves in the trees dancing. "I just thought that you would like to know that you have a case to see to. Cuddy sent the file over just a few minutes ago."

"Good for Cuddy," remarked House hoping his voice sounded bored and dry. He didn't want her to see that he was in pain. She obviously couldn't see it herself. And she claimed to be his friend. He resisted the desire to pat down his pockets knowing full well that he wouldn't find any Vicodin. He had run out last night and hadn't bothered to refill his prescription this morning. It was out of character for him. But Cuddy had been hanging around the pharmacy and he didn't want to have to talk with her. It was childish and he didn't care, even though he was now paying for his stubbornness.

"Well, are you going to come in and take a look at it?" she asked him, raising her eyebrows in question.

"Nope," he replied simply. "I'm pretty sure you guys can handle it without me. And if you can't, than you all need to find new professions. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to be left alone. That's why I came out here."

Cameron scowled. "After all that shit you went through you're still a stubborn ass fool, House. When are you ever going to lose that thorn in your side and start acting like a hospitable person?"

"He does act like a hospitable person," Wilson said as he stepped up to the wall. He had came out of his office to see what was going on. "You just don't get the benefit of seeing that part of him. Now, if I may be so bold as to ask, why are you out here?" He directed the question at Cameron, not House.

Cameron looked from Wilson to House and back again. "You know," she sighed, "I liked the two of you better when you weren't going out. Now it's like no one else in the world matters. Whatever." She didn't give either one of them a chance to reply as she turned and stormed back into the office, leaving them behind.

By now House had given up on his cane and had taken to actually sitting on the wall. Wilson scowled at him. A scowl sexier than Cameron had. "Would you get off that damn thing before you fall over the edge? I don't think even you have mastered human flight, House"

"I like it up here, it's comfortable," House replied, closing his eyes. At least all the weight was off his leg, even though it still continued to throb in pain.

"Would get off the wall for this?" Wilson asked as he shook a bottle of pills.

House opened his eyes. "Where did you get those?"

"I was down in the pharmacy with one of my patients a few minutes ago and I noticed that you hadn't picked up your prescription. So I thought I'd get it for you. I take it from the way you're sitting on the wall that your leg hurts."

Having gotten off the wall and hobbled over to Wilson, House took the bottle from his hands. "Thanks," he said simply. Nothing else really needed to be said. 'Thanks' was one of those words that rarely got passed House's lips so it was more than enough. And Wilson was more than happy to accept it.

He watched as House popped two of the pills at once. "Hey, take it easy on those. We don't need a repeat of…" A cloud passed over Wilson's features as his words died on his breath.

House slowly recapped the bottle and slipped it into his pocket. He actually felt like kicking himself. Would he ever be able to make up for the pain that he'd caused Wilson? Would there be any way to erase the scars? On a spur of the moment idea he reached out, placing his hand behind Wilson's head and drawing him close. Their lips met in a tender kiss. House didn't even care if the others saw them through the window. He also didn't care that he loved Wilson. It had been so long since he was loved and he liked how it made him feel. And it was a feeling he never wanted to go without again.


	2. Wish it Would Break

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Wish it Would Break**

It began to rain as Cuddy filled out paperwork in her office. She was tired of writing the same thing over and over again. But the board of directors wanted to make sure that House was still capable of doing his job. The problem she was having was whether or not to tell any of them about the budding relationship between House and Wilson. She didn't care that they were in love, if that's what it could be called. All she knew was that Wilson was good for House. If the two of them wanted to share a bed, she wasn't going to object. However, keeping information from the higher ups would get her in trouble if it somehow got out that she knew and didn't say anything. Why did it seem that House always had her back up against the wall? Wasn't she the one that was supposed to be controlling him, and not vice versa?

She chewed on the end of her pen as the toyed with the idea of telling everyone. Her friendship with the doctor was already strained. Telling everyone about his personal life wouldn't really help things any. Of course, he wasn't always so nice to other people when it came to similar situations. She was about to put pen to paper when there was a knock at the door. She looked up, half expecting it to be House, even though she knew he wasn't the knocking kind. An older man walked into her office, his business suit more expensive than her own car. He looked distinguished and tough as nail while holding on to that loving grandfather appeal.

"Mr. Dixon, what a pleasant surprise," she smiled, standing up, dropping her pen on her desk. "To what do I own this visit?"

The older man took a seat in a chair across from her desk. He idly checked his watch, which Cuddy noticed was gold. She wasn't really surprised though. The higher ups always made more money and could spend it on such frivolous things like gold watches and expensive suits. She wisely kept her mouth shut. They could be using that money to fund certain projects in the hospital or to buy new equipment. It wasn't her place to tell them what to do with their money though.

"I've been hearing some interesting tails from this place lately," the man spoke coolly, his voice carrying just the slightest hint of a British accent. "I was hoping that you could sort things out for me."

"Um, sure, I'll do what I can," Cuddy answered, hoping that he didn't notice the slight tremor in her voice. She had a bad feeling that she knew where this was going. And if it turned out that she was right, then things were about to get ugly again.

"Dr. House is back to work. While he is a good doctor I can't help but hear that he's dating someone that he works closely with," Dixon said. "Now, I don't tend to frown on business relationships in the hospital. As long as the two parties don't work too closely together. I like there to be a space between them so that we don't have foolish judgments. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Cuddy nodded. "Yes, sir. But I don't-"

He held up his hand to silence her. "Now, I'm worried that Dr. House's new infatuation with his co-worker will cloud his judgment. And he is the best doctor that this hospital has, even if he's not always doing things legally and his bedside manner sucks. None of that matters to me. He saves lives and gives this hospital a good reputation. That's what counts."

"I know that, Mr. Dixon. But-"

"Wilson is also a very good doctor," Dixon continued, ignoring her attempts to interrupt. "In fact, he's one of the best oncologists in the state and I would love to keep him employed here. However, I will not sit by while two good doctors risk everything for a little fling. I want you to nip this in the bud. Either make it clear to them that they have to leave their relationship out of the office or the board will be forced to take action."

By now Cuddy's heart felt like it was made of lead and a seed of foreboding had been planted in the deepest reaches of her stomach. This was not going to be a pleasant time. "Mr. Dixon, I believe that both Dr House and Dr Wilson are mature enough to leave their relationship at the threshold. I don't think they would be willing to risk their jobs."

The man smiled. "Well, you obviously have been too cooped up in this office to see what's been going on around you. I went to pay a visit to Dr House before coming to see you. I wanted to welcome him back. Low and behold he was out on the balcony kissing Wilson while his team worked over the file of a patient. He's already slacking off in his work."

"I'll talk to him right away. I'll talk to both of them," she assured the older man. "Please, don't make any decisions just yet."

"Oh, the decision has already been made, Dr Cuddy," Mr. Dixon replied coolly as he stood from his chair. Cuddy stood too. "I want you to make it clear to them. If they don't keep their relationship out of this hospital I will be forced to remove one of them. And I don't want it to come to that. But I can't have the reputation of this hospital suffering for a small fling."

He turned a left, not even bothering to say goodbye or wish her a good day. Cuddy sat heavily in her chair, her mind buzzing with worry. She had worked with House for years now and knew that he wasn't one to buckle to authority. Hell, she had seen what lengths he would go to just to get his way. And that wasn't a road that she wanted to travel down again. After all, she had pushed too hard and already ruined a good, but somewhat rocky, friendship. She could tell House all she wanted that he wasn't supposed to fool around while on the clock. That didn't mean he was going to listen.

Then an idea came to her. She picked up her phone and made a quick call. After hanging up she cleaned up her desk, putting the stack of papers in a drawer and the pen back in the cup by her stapler. On second though, she pulled the papers from the drawer and threw them in the trash. The directors already knew what was going on and she wasn't going to waste anymore time in filling out the stupid forms. A minute later there was another knock on her door. She looked up in time to see Wilson enter her office.

"You called for me?" he asked, his voice friendly. He had forgiven her more than House had over the past few weeks. At least she still had one friend.

"We need to talk, Wilson," she told him. "And it's rather important. Please, take a seat."


	3. Forget about You

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash.

**Author Note: Updated News.**

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**Chapter Three: Forget About You**

The rain was falling steadily as he walked around the grounds of the hospital. He hadn't bothered to grab an umbrella or his coat before walking out into the dreary weather. And he didn't care in the least that he was getting wet, more like soaked. His mind was full of doubt and anger, depression and even a touch of regret. He had talked with Cuddy and hadn't been happy with what she said. To him it made perfect sense to leave his love at the door of the hospital. He was more than able to do his job without running to House every hour of ever day to make out. But he knew full well that if word got back to House that everything would fall apart. That House would go out of his way to break the rules and piss off the people that controlled their jobs. Wilson had already suffered for him once when Tritter had made him shut down his practice. He wasn't about to let his work suffer again. He loved House, but the other doctor had to learn that rules applied to everyone.

That thought actually made Wilson chuckle. House didn't care about rules and would never think of them as applying to him. This was the same doctor that had been more than happy to walk out of his court hearing even though it meant he was in contempt of court and would spend time in jail. This was the doctor that bribed an orderly to slip him Vicodin when he was supposed to be detoxing in the hospital's rehab. No, when it came to rules, House had to break them. He freely crossed the line and never looked back to see what sort of consequences his actions had. He didn't notice the people suffering in his wake.

Wilson ran a hand over his mouth as he stopped to stand under the protection of a tree. Some how he was going to have to keep House at arms length while they were working without completely pushing him away. He would then make it well known that he loved him while it was just the two of them. But what if House read something more into? What if House thought he was uncomfortable loving him in a public place or uncomfortable with their relationship all together? He didn't want to do that, not when things were still a little rocky.

He absently kicked a rock. This was his entire fault. He was the one that kept running to House when he was in pain. He was the one at the door every time House needed someone to hold him up or bring him back from the depths of his own mind. He had placed himself in the situation where House felt he could reveal how he truly felt. Maybe if he had bothered to keep his distance everything would be fine now. There was a slight chance that House would be dead too. It was a lose-lose situation all the way around.

"What are you doing out here? Are you trying to act more like me?" House asked as he strode over to the tree. He didn't have an umbrella with him but was wearing a coat.

"I was just thinking about something," Wilson said, trying to think up a quick lie. "I got some test results back for one of my patients and their treatment isn't going as well as we thought."

"So you decided to walk around in the cold rain without a coat and catch your death? Stop trying to be me, Wilson," House said to him. "I don't want to be you. That would mean I'd have to care about people I don't know."

Wilson couldn't help smiling a little. "You'd have to care about the people you know, too."

"But if I spent all that time caring about other people I wouldn't have any time left to care about myself. Now that just doesn't even seem right," House remarked as he came to rest beside Wilson under the tree.

They stood there in silence for a few minutes, listening to the rain and muffled sounds of the city. People came and went all around them but they mutually felt as though they were in another space and time. Wilson wanted to tell House the truth. At the same time he wanted to wrap his arms around the other doctor and hold him close. Since leaving his wife he hadn't felt so loved. Hell, even with his wife he hadn't felt this way. And now he was supposed to tell House that they couldn't be open with their relationship. For that's what he felt this was really about. It had nothing to do with them getting distracted while they worked. No, the directors were worried how patients and other doctors would react to two openly gay doctors working and dating in the same place.

"Why are you really out here, Wilson?" House asked a moment later, his voice somewhat hushed. He knew that something was bothering Wilson. They had spent enough time together that they were starting to sense each other's moods.

"I told you," Wilson simply replied.

"Don't lie to me. I know that Cuddy called you into her office," House told him. "She's not planning to take away my Vicodin again, is she?"

In a way, Wilson wanted to say. "No, she's not planning anything against you, House. It was just to discuss something I had asked her. Something to do with my practice. Don't worry about it."

"You're still lying to me," House scowled.

"Can we just drop it?" Wilson asked, massaging the back of his neck.

House studied him for a minute. He could get an answer out of Cuddy if he badgered her enough. "All right. We can drop it. On one condition."

"And what would that be?" Wilson asked.

"Kiss me," House stated simply.

Wilson's heart beat a little faster. He looked around; taking note of everyone that would see them. Everyone that could run and tell Cuddy what they were doing. "I…" he let the words die on his lips. How could he tell House no without making it too personal?

Frustrated with Wilson's stalling, House slipped the fingers of his right hand into the waistband of Wilson's pants and pulled him close. He brought their lips together, tasting the rain on Wilson's mouth. Wilson relaxed, all the tension and worry slipping from his body. How could he ever forget about House? How could he keep his feelings locked deep inside? He embraced House as their kiss grew a little deeper. In that moment he didn't care what happened to either one of them. He loved House and House loved him. That's all that really mattered. And no one could break them apart.


	4. I Can Only Think of One

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash.

**Author Note: Updated News.**

* * *

**Chapter Four: I Can Only Think of One**

The door to her office flew open, startling her. She had been sitting there with her elbows on her desk and her head in her hands. She had been trying to figure out how to keep Wilson and House apart without making it seem overly obvious, though that would be impossible with House. He was always so sure that at least one person was out to get him every single day. The man was paranoid but he didn't let everyone see it, just a select few. Now she found herself looking at a red faced Mr. Dixon. He looked positively furious. Cuddy swallowed nervously. This couldn't possibly be good.

"Mr. Dixon, I-"

"Shut up," the older man barked. "I thought I had made things perfectly clear to you. Did I not tell you that those two….doctors, if you can even call them that, had to be kept apart?"

"Sir, I spoke with Dr. Wilson and was about to call Dr. House into my office," Cuddy lied through her teeth. "If you'll just give a few minutes this won't be a problem."

"Too late for that," Mr. Dixon snarled. "Your two doctors are out on the front lawn making out where anybody who wants to watch can. I want you to rectify this situation. I will not have this hospital suffer from lawsuits or any other problem because people believe there's a conflict of interest or that those two are too damn preoccupied."

"I'll fix it," Cuddy said slowly, anger seeping into her voice. She hated when the bigwigs came charging into her hospital and started making demands. They may have fronted the money to keep the place running but none of them really understand what it took to run a hospital. None of them had sat in her chair and tried to figure out the complexity of schedules or where to apply the funds. As far as she was concerned it was her hospital, not theirs. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to do my job. After all, it's what I'm paid for."

"Don't waste any time in thinking of ways to make this work," said Mr. Dixon. "I already have the solution. Dr. Wilson will make a fine addition to our new hospital in Pennsylvania. I'll have them start making preparations to move his practice there. I will be sending another doctor here to take his place."

Cuddy couldn't believe what she was hearing. She stood from her desk, placing her palms flat on the wood and leaning slightly forward. "You can't do that. Are you crazy? This hospital has the reputation it does because of the Dr. House and Dr. Wilson. They are the best doctors here."

"I'm aware of that. That's why I want them split up. At the rate they're going they are going to become so infatuated with each other that their work will suffer and so will this hospital. I will not have that," stated Mr. Dixon. He clearly wasn't going to back down. "I don't care what they do in their free time. They can visit each other after work hours and on weekends. Or they can find other people to fall in love with. I don't really give a damn. This decision has already been set in motion. Dr. Wilson will be out of here by tomorrow night."

Mr. Dixon left Cuddy where she stood, a feeling of nausea taking hold of her. She hadn't been given the chance to tell him that removing Wilson would only cause problems with House. No one but those that worked with him understood how he liked a sense of balance in his life. There may be moments when he pushed them away or was just plain rude to them. But in the end, he would be lost without them. They were his support system, his friends. They helped him keep his life in some sort of organized state that allowed him to do his work. Without Wilson, one of the most important cogs in the machine, House would fall apart.

Cuddy slowly sank back into her chair. The hospital was going to suffer. House never went down without a fight. She could see it now. He would spend all his time out in Pennsylvania. She had to get Wilson transferred back or fire House for never showing up at work. Why didn't the directors see what they were doing? And why didn't they trust her to do her job? This was wrong. With one simple decision they had put so many future patients in jeopardy. She shook her head, a numb feeling settling in her gut.

There was a knock at her door. Looking up she saw Cameron walk tentatively into the office. Cameron wasn't even able to get a word out before Cuddy poured out the events that had just unfolded. After it was all out they sat together in silence, most likely thinking of how everything had just gotten more complicated. Cameron was the first to speak.

"I'll break the news to House," she said. "Why don't you break it to Wilson? Preferably at the same time."

"Okay," Cuddy agreed, slowly nodding her head. "I would rather tell House myself but we still aren't really speaking. And the last thing I need is for him to think I wanted this or that it was my idea."

"Should we…?"

"Yes, let's get it done with. There really is no delaying the inevitable," replied Cuddy as she stood once again from her chair. She followed Cameron out of the office. Wilson wouldn't be hard to find. He'd most likely be in his office going over paperwork like he usually was when not seeing a patient or hanging out with House. She took off for the elevators.

Cameron went into the clinic. House was supposed to be working. She knew that she would find him doing anything but work. And she was right. He was in the third exam room that she checked, sitting on the bed playing with his handheld console. Entering the room she closed the door softly behind her.

He looked up. "Are you here to ruin my fun? Did Cuddy send you to tell me that I had to work? You really shouldn't let her push you around. Grow a backbone. Learn to say no to her. You do it so well with the guys."

She studied him quietly. It hurt her to have to tell him what was about to happen. There was a time when she had loved him. But after seeing how happy he was with Wilson she had gotten over him. She was with Chase now. The last thing she really wanted to do was to hurt House after everything else that had recently happened. This didn't seem fair to her. He was happy. The happiest she had ever seen him. And she knew that she wasn't alone in thinking how wonderful it was to see him that way. Yes, she was here to ruin his fun, in a way.

"House, we need to talk," she said softly.


	5. Bartender, etc

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash.

* * *

**Chapter Five: Bartender, etc…**

He wasn't a drinking man, not by far. But that night, after the news he had received, all he wanted to do was drown his sorrows in a bottle of some strong liquor. He had no such thing at his house and for that reason he skipped out on going home. Instead he drove down the winding streets after work until he found just what he was looking for, some little bar with a dark interior where he could hide from the world. And so far, it was working. The glass in front of him was his third or fourth, he couldn't really recall. Maybe deep down he really didn't care. He couldn't even remember what it was that he'd been drinking. The bartender came over to offer him another and he nodded in consent. So what if he couldn't keep count of his drinks, what did that matter? He was a grown man. If he wanted to drown in alcohol, than so be it.

The bartender slipped the glass in front of him. "Are you going to be fit to drive home, buster?" she asked in a husky voice.

House looked up from the scarred wood of the bar where his eyes had been lingering. "I'll call a damn cab. Just keep them coming."

"Who broke your heart, hun?" she asked as she wiped glasses with a clean rag and put them away. Her blue-gray eyes studied House while he tried to think of how to answer her question, or decide if he even wanted to.

"Some dick is trying to control my life," he muttered. He wasn't one for opening up. He liked to keep a distance between him and the people around him. Call him a snob or inconsiderate but it helped him deal with the ups and downs of life. After all, if he wasn't close to anyone than it wouldn't hurt when that person wasn't there anymore. Expect he had made the mistake of getting close to Wilson, hadn't he? Was it a mistake, though? Could falling in love really be a mistake? Wilson did make him happy; he had to admit to that much.

"Your boss fire you or something?" she asked, trying to get a clearer view of the picture.

"Nope, just told me that I can't see my boyfriend anymore," House muttered, absentmindedly tearing a napkin. He had gone back to staring at the bar. A slight buzz from the alcohol flitted about his body.

The bartender put down her rag and frowned. "Really? That doesn't really seem right. What they do, tell you that if you kept dating the guy that they'd fire you? They can't do that, it's discrimination."

"Ha," he replied, looking at her again as he sipped his amber colored liquid. "Nothing like that, not exactly anyway. No, they decided to transfer him to a different state so we couldn't see each other. Bastards," he muttered the last word under his breath.

"That's bullshit," she said. "I'd march right into your boss's office and give her a piece of your mind."

"I'm pretty sure he already has," a new voice said.

House looked over at Wilson as he took the stool next to him. "Why the hell are you here?"

"Funny thing that," Wilson started off, taking House's drink from him and moving it out of the other doctor's reach. "We were supposed to meet at your place but when I got there you were missing. I know you talked with Cuddy and she wasn't telling you something you'd like to hear so I figured you got mad or something. I spent twenty minutes driving around town until Chase called me to say that he had seen your motorcycle outside a bar."

"Chase should mind his own damn business," House replied, trying to get the attention of the female bartender who had wondered away when Wilson sat down.

"Come on, House, let's go home," Wilson said, placing a hand on House's arm.

"I don't want to go home," he stated, pulling away from Wilson. "I want to stay here and feel pitiful."

Wilson scowled. He was used to House being a pain and downright stubborn but this was not what he'd been expecting under the circumstances. "You would rather spend one of our last nights together getting drunk instead of at home with me?"

"Home?" House turned to him, his eyes locking onto Wilson's. "It's not home, not without you."

It took of Wilson's self-control not to reach out and kiss right there in the bar. That was probably the sweetest thing the other doctor had ever said to him. He smiled sincerely at House. "It's not the end of things, House. I'll come visit on weekends and my days off. We can make this work. But only if you'll stop acting like such an ass."

"I'd listen to your boyfriend," the bartender said, slipping a glass of water in front of House. "At least someone has their head on straight."

A blush crept across Wilson's cheeks. He hadn't realized that House had been telling anyone about them, least of all a complete stranger. It wasn't like House to share his private life. Hell, Wilson never pegged him for a drinking man. The night was full of surprises. He pulled his wallet from his pocket and handed money to the bartender, paying House's tab. Then he gently took hold of Houses wrist and stood from his stool. "Let's go home, House. Let's not do this here. Please."

House looked at Wilson, really looked at him. Even thought he was slightly buzzed he could see the emotions clearly on his lover's face. There was love and worry in Wilson's eyes and a hint of fear in his voice. His hand was warm on House's wrist and it felt good. House grabbed his cane and allowed Wilson to pull him from his stool and direct him out the door into the cool night air.

"What about my bike?" he asked as they walked through the small parking lot.

"We'll get it tomorrow," Wilson assured him. "You're in no condition to drive it. You know, I never expected you to get drunk, House. You don't seem like the type."

They were standing by Wilson's silver car and House had this sudden impulse to kiss him. He turned to the oncologist, studying him in the soft glow of a street light. In a handful of days he wouldn't be able to look into those lovely eyes whenever he wanted to. He wouldn't be able to walk down the hall and sit in Wilson's office when he wanted to talk, to hear his voice. He wouldn't be able to just have lunch with him, to be near him. It broke his heart. He gathered Wilson to him and brought their lips together. The kiss was warm, filled with love, and it sent the butterflies in House's stomach into a frenzy. A simple kiss that made his toes curl and his blood run hot. No one had ever made him feel the way Wilson did. The thought of losing him did things to House that he didn't like, that he couldn't even fully comprehend. He was lost a drift in the sea, clinging desperately to the only thing that would keep him afloat. And in just a matter of days he'd be drowning, lost in his own grief once again.


	6. Is Anybody Loving You?

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash.

* * *

**Chapter Six: Is Anybody Loving You?**

They lay beside each other in bed. Wilson was sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling as he breathed steadily. House was wide awake, which was unusual for him. A lot of unusual things had been happening lately. Especially to him. They had come home from the bar and made love, slow and steady, enjoying every inch of each other's body. Now he lay there in the dark, the sweat having dried on his body, a cool breeze drifting in from the window. It sent a shiver down his spine. Rolling out of bed carefully, so as not to wake Wilson, he crept over to the window and shut it. With a look over his shoulder he was reassured to see that Wilson still slept, the blankets twisted about him. House had a fleeting thought of fixing them but stopped himself. It might wake Wilson and he looked so peaceful, so wonderful.

House slipped into a pair of clean boxers before grabbing his cane and hobbling out into the living room. He sank down on the sofa, not sure what he was doing. He should have been curled up in bed, embraced by his lover's arms. Instead he was sitting on the couch in his underwear and chewing on his bottom lip, a scowl on his face. He glanced at the digital clock above his TV. It read a little after midnight. Midnight, before long it would be one and than two, and all too soon Wilson would be gone. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. His mind backtracked to a few weeks ago, to when he had nearly died. That had been a low point in his life. The lowest yet. In the confusion of his pain he'd tried taking his own life only to have Wilson reach into the darkness and pull him out.

And he knew that once Wilson left that the darkness would be again.

It scared him.

So did the sudden knock at the door. He jumped at the unexpected sound, knocking his cane over. It hit the carpet with a soft thud. Looking back over his shoulder at the door he tried to decide if answering it was worth the trouble. Who would be calling this late at night? They knocked again, a little harder than the first time. House, afraid that the sound would wake Wilson, got up and went to the door. Looking through the peep-hole he could see that his unexpected visitors were actually the last people he wanted to see. He undid the locks and opened the door only a fraction.

"What do you want?" he asked. "Don't you realize that it's after midnight?"

Cuddy offered him a smile that she hoped was apologetic. She hated having to call on him so late. "House, can we come in? We need to talk to you about something?"

"It's late, go home," he said, about to close the door.

Cuddy had been expecting the move so she was prepared, sticking her foot in the path of the door. "House, we need to talk, it's important."

Maybe it was something in her voice, or the way that Cameron was staring at him, he wasn't really sure, but he felt that letting them in was a good idea. So he let his hand slip from the door knob and walked toward the kitchen, resting his cane against the counter before leaning back against it himself. They walked into the dark apartment. Cameron flicked on one of the lamps beside the couch. She was slightly startled to see House standing in the kitchen in nothing but his boxers. Cuddy didn't seem to care in the least that he was nearly naked. Instead, she walked into the kitchen and spread a file out on the counter. House felt like grumbling.

"You came knocking at my door in the middle of the night for a damn patient? Can't you find someone else to take care of them?" He took the bottle of Vicadin off the little shelf above the sink and popped one in his mouth.

"He wants you," was all that Cuddy said to him, flipping through the paperwork.

"Then he can wait until morning. I need to sleep," House replied.

"Yeah, like you were sleeping before they got here," Wilson said as he came into the living room, joining their party. He had gone one step further than House and had at least bothered to throw on a pair of pants. His chest was still bare. Cameron stood in the glow of the lamp, a knowing smile on her face. House could have sworn he heard her giggle.

"Well, if they weren't here I could go to bed and fall asleep," House retorted.

"Why are you here?" Wilson asked as he looked at the time.

Cuddy held up a sheet of paper. "We started running tests but he asked for you, House. He wants you to help him," she stated, looking at the piece of paper in her hand. She didn't give anyone a chance to say anything. "Now, he has symptoms of the flu but also reports severe headaches and loss of appetite. He came to me yesterday and I admit I brushed him. I figured that he was just sick, that it was just the flu. But after talking with him this evening, after he came in, I realize that I made a mistake." She looked at House, her eyes boring into his, pleading with him. "I know it's late, and I know that you want to spend time with Wilson before…but he asked for your help and he needs it. I don't know what's wrong with him, House."

"This can't wait until tomorrow morning?" House asked, looking over at Wilson. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and curl up next to his lover. And judging by the expression on Wilson's face, he was thinking the same thing.

Cameron shook her head. "It can't wait," she sniffed and for the first time House realized that her eyes were red and puffy. She'd been crying. "You can't let him down, House. Not without a fight first. You would do it for others."

"Who are the two of you talking about?" Wilson asked.

Cuddy placed the paper back in the file and opened her mouth to answer Wilson when House beat her to the punch, "Chase."


	7. My Love Will Follow You

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: My Love Will Follow You**

Back at the hospital House followed a tearful Cameron into see Chase, who looked weak even while he was sleeping. His skin had paled considerably since House had seen him last and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked like one of the dead but House kept that to himself, not wanting to upset Cameron more than she already was. Foreman came in behind them with Cuddy and Wilson on his heels. The whole gang was present. As House looked around the room he realized that everything was changing. And not necessarily in a good way.

He had fallen in love with Wilson and given away his heart. Only now it was going to be torn out as Wilson went to live in Pennsylvania. He had entertained the thought of asking Wilson to stay, to quit his job and just stay with him. He had more than enough money saved up for the two of them to live on. But it wasn't fair to ask that of Wilson and he knew it. For once he was going to keep his mouth shut and let life take him where it thought he needed to be.

While he had been falling for the oncologist, Cameron fell head over heels for Chase. House didn't mind that the two of them were together, he was just happy that they managed to keep it out of the office and that Cameron wasn't bugging him anymore. But now Chase's life hung in the balance. What if House couldn't figure out what disease or illness it was that was attacking Chase? What if he failed? What would his friends, his colleagues think of him then?

And what about Cuddy? Would their friendship, or whatever the hell it was, ever be restored?

"Get out," he told them, his voice harsh. They all looked at him with tear filled eyes. "Get out," he said with more emphasis.

"But-"

"Out." He brandished his cane like a weapon. They shuffled out of the room, some with heads hanging. He didn't care. He wanted the silence to evaluate Chase. There wasn't time for mistakes. Not so long ago he'd nearly lost Foreman. He wasn't going to go down that road again. If he could save Foreman, he could save Chase.

He walked to the side of the bed. "Wake up," he said in Chase's ear. Chase's eyes popped open as he jumped a bit from the sudden sound. "Start talking. What are your symptoms?"

"House? What…"

"Symptoms. Tell me your symptoms or I'll have them run every test known to man on you," he threatened, thinking of all the invasive tests that made patients squirm.

Chase rubbed at his eye before answering. "Well, I was feeling sick yesterday, flu-like; coughing, sneezing, fever, aching in my joints. I just wanted to go home and sleep it off but Cuddy told me to finish up my shift first. I only had an hour left and I planned to spend it on doing paperwork, so I did." He brought his hand to his mouth as he coughed a deep cough that sounded like it hurt. "I was walking home yesterday and didn't feel quite so bad but by the time I reached the front door of my apartment I was feeling pretty lousy."

"I didn't ask for your life story, I asked for your symptoms," House grumbled.

"I think I passed out," Chase said, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he tried to remember. "I woke up in the back of an ambulance. By the time I was settled here I had, and still have a severe headache, malaise, loss of appetite, and a rather nasty chill." He paused, turning his eyes to the ceiling. "I'm going to die, aren't I?"

House rolled his eyes but Chase didn't see him. "Sounds like a nasty case of the flu but I'm going to have them run tests anyway. Last time I checked, the flu didn't come with a severe headache."

He hobbled out of the room and found them all waiting for him. Before anyone could ask any questions he directed them to start running certain tests. Mainly blood tests. They parted company and House set out for his office. He wasn't really used to being in the hospital when it was dark outside. He left overnight watch to his little minions so that he could go home a sleep. Except, he wasn't sleeping. He was thinking about Wilson leaving. He opened the door to his dark office and walked inside, the door swinging shut behind him. He didn't even bother to turn on a light. Crossing the room, he rested his cane beside his desk and stood in front of the window, looking out at the stars in the clear night sky.

"Running already?" Wilson asked as he came up behind him. He placed a hand on the small of House's back.

"I'm not running, I'm thinking," he replied, not looking at Wilson. He didn't know if he had the strength to.

"We can make this work, House," assured Wilson. "It's just a few miles, nothing more. We can visit it each other all the time."

"It's not just a couple of miles," whispered House, his heart breaking all over again. "It's never just a matter of miles. It starts out simply. You move away, vowing to visit when you get the chance. And for a while, everything is fine. But eventually you meet someone new, you don't want me to know so you start making excuses and coming to visit less often. Before we know it, we won't even be friends anymore."

Wilson forced House to turn and face him. "I'm not going to find anyone else. Hell, I'll probably get fired because I'll spend too much time thinking about you instead of taking care of my patients. You're going to sit here thinking about me falling in love with some else while I'm miles away thinking the exact same thing."

House shook his head. "I won't fall in love with anyone else. I won't be able to, my love will follow you to whatever hospital it is they're sticking you in."

For a moment Wilson was speechless. House was just full of surprises. He ran a hand through House's hair, pulling him closer so that he could kiss him. He was going to miss all the opportunities to see House throughout the day. He could call him but it wasn't the same. He wouldn't be able to hold him, to listen to his crazy ideas, to watch him solve the mystery. And as their kiss broke he rested is head against House's chest and let the tears come.


	8. How Am I Doin?

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: How Am I Doin?**

Wilson left before noon rolled around. House didn't even bother to see him off. He didn't think he'd be able to handle it. He sat in his office, brooding over the fact that he'd fallen so in love with a man when he actually never expected to fall in love again. It was a feeling he cherished, one that he had missed. And now it was gone. No, not gone, just dulled. Wilson's office was empty, all the things that made it so unique having been taken away. All that was left was the furniture and the computer on the desk. It was almost as though Wilson had never been there, a ghost, a figment of his feeble imagination.

Only two hours had passed since Wilson bid him goodbye. Two hours and House had already fallen off the wagon. There was a scalpel in his desk drawer and all he wanted to do was retrace the scars from the not so distant past. He wanted to cut out this love that made him feel so warm, so lost and confused. But he just sat there, letting the emotions dull and the life go out of his eyes. He no longer felt like turning over a new leaf. He wanted to go back to his old ways, his uncaring and rude manners. And that's just what he was going to do. No one would stop him. None of them understood his mentality the way that Wilson did.

There was a knock at the door. He didn't bother to look up as Foreman came into his office, a sheet of paper in his hands. Cameron stayed outside in the hallway, a tissue in her hand. "House, the tests are done. We didn't find anything. All his blood tests came back negative. And he doesn't have the flu. I don't know what the hell is wrong with him but he looks like he's getting worse by the hour."

House looked at him, having momentarily forgotten about Chase while he stewed in his own grief. "Run more tests. Start running whatever tests you want. One of them will give you the answer."

"House…" Foreman started but thought better of it. He left the office quietly, worried about his friend and now starting to worry about his boss. Cameron looked at him expectantly in the hall, waiting to hear what their next move was; maybe they relied too much on House. "He said to just run whatever tests we wanted to."

"What? We can't do that to Chase," she snapped by in astonishment. "He doesn't deserve to be poked and prodded because House is brooding. It's not fair to make Chase suffer anymore than he already is." She wiped away her tears as sadness was replaced with anger.

"Let's try doing this on our own. At least for now," Foreman suggested. He wouldn't mind having help from House since it was Chase that they were trying to diagnose but he also felt this great need to do something on his own for once. He was a doctor. He'd gone to school; gotten his degree and he wanted to help people. Instead he'd been stuck under House's thumb, doing every little thing House wanted him to do and taking all his shit. Now it was his chance to prove to himself that he was good at what he did and not just some mindless robot without a clue.

"On our own?" Cameron sneered.

Foreman sighed. "Look, let's just run some tests. We won't do anything invasive. And if push comes to shove, we'll come crawling back to House. But right now he's not even a help to himself."

"I-"

He put his arm around Cameron's shoulders and started walking her away from House's office. "Let's start with something simple. We'll do a culture; see what kind of answers that can give us. Then we'll take it from there."

* * *

Cuddy stood outside the door to House's office, chewing her bottom lip and trying to gather the courage to walk in and talk to him. Things had been so rocky between them. She wasn't even sure he wanted to see her, talk to her, and hear what she had to say. He was just sitting in his office, his back to the door. There were no handheld games being played, no music flowing from the speakers of his computer. He wasn't even playing with that damn ball that he kept on his desk. She was worried but didn't know what to do. He was this withdrawn and Wilson hadn't even been gone a whole day. Things were only going to get worse.

She knocked softly on the door before slipping inside. She kept her back pressed up against the cool glass, her hands behind her back. "House…"

"Go away," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She thought of doing just that but opted to stay. "House, if you focus on helping Chase the week will pass quicker. Time will fly and you'll be able to see Wilson again. It'll be like he never left."

"I told you to go away." He didn't bother to turn his chair to look in her direction, to acknowledge her.

She went to open her mouth and thought better of it. For now he was out of her reach. That didn't mean that he would be forever. Eventually she saw him slipping back to his former self and becoming the snide, rude doctor they had all grown to respect. She just hoped it happened soon enough to help Chase.


	9. Distant Shores

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Distant Shores**

When House went home that night he didn't even bother to turn on the lights in his apartment. He was afraid that Wilson would have left something behind, some little trinket that he'd simply overlooked. The last thing he really wanted to do was think about Wilson and how lonely the place was without him. But of course, that was nearly impossible to avoid. For the past few weeks Wilson had been staying with him. They'd come home from work, either together or apart, depending on their work loads. Wilson would set about making dinner while House read through the newspaper or a medical journal. Sometimes, if he had a particularly trying case, he'd hash it out with Wilson over dinner and see what ideas the other doctor had.

Now all he had was the darkness.

He couldn't even find comfort in that, the surrounding, impressing blackness that felt suffocating. As he settled on the couch his mind went back to a dark time in his life, something that had happened recently. The cutting. The morphine. It had taken his pain away, a little at a time. It also brought him Wilson. He wanted to sink into a fit of depression, to lock himself away in his apartment and forget that a world even existed outside the door. He'd become some crazy recluse. Perhaps then Cuddy would see that taking away Wilson was the worst thing that could have ever happened. Take away his Vicadin, he could find another drug. There was only one Wilson.

He knew Cuddy wasn't the one making the decisions. It wasn't her idea to send Wilson to Pennsylvania. She hadn't stopped it, either. She was good at putting her foot down and fighting. Not this time. It was like she was happy to see him miserable. He wouldn't be the least bit surprised if that was how it worked. Everyone was out to make his life a living hell. And he was so tired of being himself.

Leaving his cane resting against the couch, House navigated his way down the dark hallway to the bedroom where an empty bed awaited him. He fell into it. The sheets were cold and the blanket offered little comfort. The bed felt too big now that he was the only one sleeping in it. He wondered what Wilson was doing at this moment. Was he lying in a bed that felt empty and cold? Was he thinking about House? Or was he hanging out with some new doctor, falling in love with a nurse? He could always pick up a phone and call Wilson, see what the oncologist was doing.

That's when he realized that he didn't have Wilson's new number.

Or his address.

Did he even know the name of the hospital he had been transferred to?

He rolled onto his side, staring at the wall. He kept his back to the side of the bed Wilson always slept on. The memories were still fresh, still so vivid in his mind. This was the first night without his lover and already he was losing his mind. What would he be like at the end of the week? Wilson said they could see each other weekends; would two days be enough to satisfy him for an entire week? No, it would never be enough. He needed Wilson. He needed him close, within easy reach. Wilson was his sanity.

Now he was right back where he started.

Alone.

He reached into his nightstand and pulled out an object. There was no light in his apartment, the moon wasn't shining through the window, no streetlights to create the hint of a glow, but he could still see perfectly the object he held in his hands. Maybe it would bring him some sort of comfort. Maybe it wouldn't. Right now he was willing to try anything. He just wanted to sleep, the leave the world behind, close his eyes for four days and wake up to the weekend. Skip over the loneliness.

* * *

The sound of ringing drove into his subconscious, waking him from his slumber. He checked the clock beside the bed. It was only after two in the morning. He still had a few hours to go before work started. He wanted to spend them blissfully unaware of the world. Turning his back on the phone, he closed his eyes once again. But he couldn't sleep, not with the annoying and persistent ringing of the phone. Whoever it was wanted to get a hold of him. Then he had an idea.

What if it was Wilson?

He snatched up the phone before he even realized he was doing it. "Hello?" he sounded too hopeful, too desperate.

"House, I'm sorry if I woke you," Cameron said, her voice coming over the line. His heart sank. So much for his hope. "You need to come back to the hospital."

"Why?" he grumbled, falling back on his pillows. When had he sat up?

"Chase isn't getting any better. There are new developments and…please come back," she pleaded. He'd never heard that tone in her voice before and it caught him by surprise. He knew that she had some sort of feelings for Chase, could it be honest to God love that she felt?

"I'll be in at my regular time. I'm pretty sure you and Foreman can hold down the fort," he said, already deciding to hanging up the phone. "Play a game of cards or hey, here's an idea, play doctor."

"House," the pleading turned to anger. "Chase may not exactly be your friend but he is your colleague. You fought for Foreman. Why can't you fight for Chase? Is it because he tattled on you that one time? Is that what it is? Get over it! He needs you."

He sighed. "What's wrong with him now?"

"Well, he's complaining of muscle pain and he's confused," she said.

"Confused? Confused how?" House asked as he sat, throwing the blanket aside.

"He doesn't seem to remember what happened. Something's wrong, House," she said. "It's like he's not all there."


	10. Whiskey Tears

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Whiskey Tears**

He was at the hospital in a matter of minutes. Cameron was standing outside waiting for him. She looked like she'd been crying again. He couldn't blame her. If he'd had less pride he would probably be doing the same thing. On second thought, was it really pride that kept him from crying? Or was it something else? There wasn't any time to think about it. The minute he got to the hospital entrance she was ushering him inside and chattering a mile a minute. She filled him in on everything.

She went to check on Chase around midnight to get an update on his status and see if his vital signs had changed. She was happy to report that his fever had dropped a degree. But then he started complaining about muscle pain, saying it felt like someone was driving needles into his muscles and leaving them there. While she checked him over she talked with him about random things; their work, Wilson leaving, and a movie that she really wanted to see. When she looked at his face she saw that his eyebrows were knit together in a questioning look so she asked him what was wrong. He wanted to know who Wilson was and why she seemed like she'd been crying. That's when she started asking him questions about his job, his life, their budding relationship. He hadn't been able to give her a straight answer, seeming to be confused by everything she was saying.

House didn't like what he was hearing. He tried to fit all the symptoms together in his mind as they walked toward Chase's room. But no one disease stood out to him. Foremen was waiting for them outside the door to the room Chase was in. he looked about as worried as Cameron. House never really thought of the three of them as such close friends. Now he was seeing that even though they fought with each other they were more than colleagues, more than competitors to show him who was better. There were friends and the idea of losing Chase was haunting them. Maybe now they would know how he felt about Wilson. Of course, Wilson wasn't dead; he was just in another state.

House told them to stay outside, that he wanted to talk with Chase alone. He entered the room. Chase turned to look at him. "House? Why are you here? I thought you were going to Pennsylvania. Did Cuddy change her mind?"

"Nope," he replied. "You've scrambled your brain. Wilson is the one that went away. You know the oncologist that used to offer up opinions on our cases. You do remember that you're a doctor, don't you?"

"A doctor….yeah…yeah, I remember," Chase said, sounding as though he wasn't so sure.

"Cameron said you were complaining of muscle pain, does it still hurt?"

"Yes," he said, closing his eyes. "Can you please turn off that damn light? My head hurts like a son of a bitch."

House left, turning the light out on his way. He told the others to up the pain medication to see if they could rid him of the muscle pain and the headache. Then he went back to his office and began writing the symptoms down on the white board. Something was causing Chase to be sick. Something that was starting to cause him confusion and pain in his muscle. And House knew what it was like to suffer muscle pain. It wasn't pleasant. Cameron and Foreman returned, and they sat around the table to brainstorm.

--------

He found himself back at the same bar that night. The day had gone downhill fast and all he wanted to do was drown his sorrows. He would drink himself silly and go home to pass out in his bed. No one would care. They couldn't seem to see his pain, the empty look in his eyes. He sipped his whiskey, the bitter alcohol passing over his tongue and sliding down his throat.

Wilson hadn't called all day. Either he was too busy with his new patients or he really didn't care about House like he said he did. That was a stab in the heart.

And Chase was not getting any better. He had spent all day with Cameron and Foreman, sitting at that damn table and trying to pick one disease that would explain the symptoms. By lunch time Chase's fever had gone up again and they ordered Chinese food. By the time he had left they hadn't find one definitive disease to help him. On his way out Cuddy reported to them that Chase was feeling nauseous; a new symptom. Without even asking Foreman and Cameron set about going through diseases again, trying to narrow the list with the help of their newest symptom.

Obviously they hadn't found anything because he'd been sitting here the last hour without a word from the hospital. He rubbed the back of his neck. Then pulled out his wallet and paid for his tab. The bartender insisted on calling him a cab but he told her that he would just walk back to the hospital and get a ride from one of his friends. Of course, that was a blatant lie. He didn't walk back to the hospital, and he wasn't dumb enough to get on his motorcycle and drive home. Instead, he started down the sidewalk heading in the direction of his one place.

The walk would be long but he could have cared less. He had a bottle of Vicadin in his pocket and the alcohol he consumed had numbed the pain in his leg, and his heart, to a certain degree. Still, about half way home his leg began to throb in pain. Maybe this hadn't been such a bright idea. He stopped, took the bottle of pills from his pocket and popped one into his mouth like a piece of candy. Putting the pills back in his pocket he once again set out. He was right outside the door to his apartment when he passed out.


	11. Lot of Leaving Left To Do

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Lot of Leaving Left to Do**

He didn't recall waking up on the doorstep and walking back to his bedroom but at some point in time he must have because he woke up in bed. His head was throbbing from the combination of the alcohol and the medicine. Rolling over, he buried his face in his pillow. Weak golden rays seeped through his bedroom curtain and even that small amount of light made the ache in his head worse. What had he been thinking last night? Drinking whiskey, popping pain medication. Maybe on some subconscious level he'd been thinking of causing himself harm.

If that was his intent then he'd failed.

All of sudden his life seemed to be filled with failure. A failed relationship. Failure to diagnose a patient; which would lead to the death of a friend. Failure to hurt himself. What happened to the doctor that walked around with all the right answers? Where had he gotten to? And how was he supposed to get him back?

He kept his eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the apartment building around him. The entire time he wished that all he could hear was the sound of Wilson sleeping soundly beside him in the bed. Instead he heard the sound of running water, a dog barking, and somewhere a car horn let out a treacherous sound. More than anything in the world he wanted to crawl into a dark coroner in the farthest reaches of the world and pull it in after him. No one would ever be able to find him. No one would ever be able to hurt him. And he wouldn't fail because there'd be no one to fail.

Much to his dismay the phone beside his bed decided to start ringing. If he'd thought the sounds of the apartment were harsh on his headache the ringing phone was worse; like a bull in a china shop. He gritted his teeth before reaching out and grabbing the infernal contraption.

"What?" he grumble, finding his voice to be gravely.

"Did I wake you?" Cuddy asked in an apologetic voice.

"No, I was just laying here, wallowing in self pity," he replied. "What do you want now?" Cuddy wasn't his favorite person at the moment. He couldn't help but think she was somewhat responsible for the things going on. After all, she would have had some say in Wilson getting transferred. She ran the hospital. All the other annoying jackasses just donated the money.

"It's nearly noon, House, I think you've been in bed long enough," she retorted, not even trying to be nice. "You have a job to do. A patient that needs your help, your expertise. There are people here relying on you. Get your ass out of bed."

"What if I don't want to?" he challenged.

She sighed. "If your ass isn't out of that bed and in your office in the next half hour then I'm going to throw away all the contact information I have for Wilson."

"He'd still be able to call me on my cellphone."

"Has he called you?"

Instead of giving her the satisfaction of learning that Wilson hadn't yet called he said, "I'll be there." Without waiting for her reply he hung up. Rolling onto his back he stared at the ceiling. The boring whiteness stared back, refusing to give him answers to his questions. There was a slight burning sensation on his left side but he chose to ignore it.

With a sigh he sat up in bed and only then realized that his cane was still in the living room. Or was it in the kitchen? Where was it? Had he even brought it in with him? A thorough search of his apartment led him to find right by the door. He reached down gingerly to pick it up. Good thing people were used to seeing him limp around or there would questions. In the course of his search he'd fallen in the kitchen, landing on the knee of his bad leg. He wasn't sure why he fell. He kept telling himself that his hand had slipped from the counter he'd been using to keep his balance.

Because of the fall he was five minutes late getting to the hospital. Cuddy didn't meet him at the door though so maybe she wasn't aware of it. He passed by her office but a quick glance inside showed him that the room lay empty, void of any human life. The boss wasn't on watch and even with all his misery he felt a small form on his lips. It felt good to get away with something. Now if he ran into her he would just claim that he stopped by the pharmacy or that he got into an argument with someone in the parking lot. Both excuses were believable when it came to him.

The elevator ride to the floor with his office was a silent one, not that he cared. He was actually happy that the hospital didn't play that crappy elevator music. He needed one last distracting thing in his life right then. The doors whooshed open and with relief the hospital was its usually busy self. Nurses were going to and fro with charts in hands. Doctors talked with family members, or even patients themselves. He even saw an elderly lady wheeling around a cart of balloons and flowers. Typical hospital décor.

Foreman was standing outside his office.

"What now? Did you lose the crumb trail back to your homies?" he asked as he opened the glass door to his silent office. He tried not to notice that the balcony was empty.

"There's been a new development," Foreman answered, following House through the door.

"And you had to come ask me what I thought it was?" House dropped his bookbag on the floor by the corner of his desk.

"No, I know what it is," Foreman said. "Chase has pneumonia."


	12. Come A Little Closer

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Come A Little Closer**

"What causes pneumonia?" House asked, standing in the adjoining room to his office. Foreman and Cameron sat at the table. The chair between them oddly empty. The chair that Chase usually sat in. They were brainstorming again, hoping for a better turn out this time around.

Cameron spoke first. "Most forms of pneumonia are caused by bacteria. In children under the age of three a simple respiratory infection can cause it. In elderly people and some adults the cause is usually the flu. And patients with asthma are put under a greater stress because it makes it harder to breath."

"Chase isn't a child or elderly," Foreman remarked.

"And we've already determined that he doesn't have the flu," House threw out. "Tell me about the types of pneumonia."

"There's Aspiration Pneumonia, but there's no blue tint to his skin so I doubt he has that," Cameron said. "He isn't the recent recipient of an organ or bone marrow transplant, making it highly unlikely that he has CMV Pneumonia. It's probably just a form of hospital-contracted pneumonia. His immune system is comprised. It would be fairly easy for him to contract the disease."

"It could be Legionella Pneumonia," offered Foreman.

"Chase doesn't have Legionnaire's Disease," Cameron countered with a roll of her eyes.

"How do you know?" Foreman shot back. House stood idly by watching them banter with each other. Usually, at about this time, he'd start telling them certain details that would eventually lead them down the right path. However, he hadn't really spent that much time with Chase and could only hazard a guess at how Chase's health was.

"He doesn't fit any of the risk factors. He doesn't smoke or drink. His immune system is temporarily shitty but he doesn't suffer from anything like cancer or diabetes," pointed out Cameron. "And Legionnaire's commonly strikes the elderly. Something else that Chase is not."

"Doesn't mean he can't get it," Foreman remarked. "It's been reported in children. Not to mention, if he had it we'd have an explanation for most of his problems; the muscle aches, loss of energy, headache, fever, chills, shortness of breath, and chest pain."

House beat his cane against the floor, startling the both of them. "Run the test for Legionnaires, Foreman. Either you're right or you're wrong. Cameron, I want you to run more blood tests. We're missing something."

"What are you going to do?"

"Go see Chase. People lie. Maybe he's been playing in someone else's pool." House didn't even wait for them to say anything, he just left. He couldn't stand being in the same room as them, listening to them banter. They were trying to help Chase and all he could think about was how much he missed Wilson. Why hadn't the other doctor called him yet? There was no way that Wilson was that busy seeing patients. There had to be more to it, like he found someone else.

He walked passed the door that used to lead to Wilson's office. Now the room inside lay empty and void of everything that he'd come to love. And his lover lay out of reach. He scowled as he continued down the hallway toward Chase's room. The last thing he wanted to do was seem desperate. Never show weakness, that was his strategy. Only a day or so had passed since Wilson left. Chances are that he still needed to get settled and just hadn't had the time to call. Maybe his phone service needed to be connected. Maybe his cellphone charger got lost in a box.

Excuses. Nothing but mental excuses to make him feel better.

Chase's room was quiet with the exception of the machinery buzzing and beeping around him. The form in the bed reminded him somewhat of a pasty ole ghost from some old horror movie. Back before graphics got to be so cool. The dark circles under Chase's eyes added to his haunted appearance and worsened House's mood. He'd seen cancer patients with those same dark circles and the matching pale complexion.

Cancer.

That was one illness that hadn't been thrown out yet. Probably because Wilson usually threw it out in the middle of the brainstorming fests. And Wilson was gone. House couldn't even ask Wilson to take a look at Chase, to just look at him and see what he thought. The only second opinions House ever valued came from Wilson.

He stopped at the side of the bed. What if he couldn't figure out what was wrong with Chase? What if it was something as simple as Legionnaire's Disease? The symptoms Foreman named match and so did the pneumonia. But something told him that it was too much to hope for that Chase would have a nothing disease. Something that simple got picked up on lab tests really fast.

Chase began to stir. And only then did House really fully look at his sick colleague. Not only was his skin pale but his cheeks looked hollow and his breathing sounded awful. Even without a stethoscope House could hear the rattling in Chase's chest. It worried him. Chase turned his eyes, now open, to House. The bright blue of them had gone dull.

"House," Chase managed to get out. But his voice was barely more than a groaned whisper.

"I'm going to have them give you antibiotics for the pneumonia."

"This isn't just a chest infection," Chase said, reaching for the plastic pitcher on a table near the bed.

House picked it up and poured a glass of water. He handed it to Chase. "I know that. But people die from pneumonia. You know that as well as I do. And if a few of your original symptoms go away with it, we might just get the answer we're looking for."

"Still no idea what's making me sick?" Chase handed the cup back to him. Before House could answer, though, Chase started coughing. The sound came from deep within his chest and made his entire upper body shake. Just watching him made House hurt. And then Chase let his hand slip from his mouth.

Blood tinted his fingers.

"You're getting worse. I'll send the nurse in with those antibiotics."


	13. Settle for a Slowdown

** Title:** Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Settle for a Slowdown**

Back to his apartment. Back to the darkness and the quiet solitude. Back to being alone with his thoughts. Back to wondering what he could have done differently. Back to sitting on the couch with his leg propped up on the coffee table. Back to believing he was meant to suffer only pain in his life and never know the true joys of happiness.

He'd left the hospital an hour ago. Chase showed no signs of improving. The antibiotics didn't appear to be working. But he told himself that he had to give them time, that drugs weren't magical. They took hours to do their job, not mere seconds, or a handful of minutes. Still, worry covered him like a blanket. With Cameron's help they'd been able to pinpoint just about everything Chase did in his daily routines. From there they poured over volume after volume of medical diagnoses, looking and hoping to find what they needed. When he left they were still looking. And he was all out of hope.

Wilson was usually good for a nice pep talk, a good pick-me-up sort of conversation. But of course, Wilson was gone and he had to keep reminding himself that. Not that reminding himself was a hard thing to do. All he had to do was walk by Wilson's now empty office or sit out on the balcony of his office. Even watching the sunset that evening did little to lift his spirits. And to make matters worse he'd been unable to track down Cuddy all damn day. On the phone this morning she mentioned having contact information regarding Wilson. What he wouldn't give to have a phone number to call. Before leaving work he'd sent Wilson an email but didn't expect to have a reply waiting for him in the morning.

He didn't even bother to turn on the lights. Why let the warm glow wash over an apartment that they'd shared for only a month or more? If he closed his eyes he could see the apartment as it had been and as it was now, with all the bare spots from Wilson's missing personal touches. The picture of them at the hospital poker benefit that sat atop the TV was gone, dust already settled in its place. The thick leather volume about cancers no longer sat on the coffee table as it always had. Even the potted plant that hung in the window was gone.

Everything that mattered was gone.

The delicious smells of the meals that Wilson used to cook them no longer awaited him when he got home at night. He tried to cook a meal for them once, only to accidentally set the stove on fire. From then on out Wilson banned him from making their meals, stating that he was a fire hazard to everyone in the building. And House knew, even though he was sitting on the couch, that the bed no longer held Wilson's scent. It hadn't even been a week and already it was like Wilson had never been there to begin with.

And maybe he hadn't been. Maybe the whole thing had been an illusion, a trick of the mind. Hell, maybe everything going on around him was some sort of illusion. He could be laying in a hospital bed in a deep coma from his morphine overdose for all he knew. And if that was true, he wanted to wake up. He wanted the chance to see Wilson again. He wanted to pick on Wilson and make fun of him like he used to. But most of all he wanted to hear Wilson's voice, to see him smile. To touch him.

He laid his head back against the back of the couch, his eyes still closed, his leg throbbing in pain. He hadn't taken a pill in the last four hours and the pain in his leg was getting worse. But he didn't care. The pain reminded him of those dark days not too long ago. The pain gave him solace then and it could again. If agony was all he was meant to have, then agony he would have. No one would take it away from him.

The phone rang. He ignored it, letting the sound eventually fade away into the darkness. It stopped and a minute later the answering machine picked up. "House, I'm sorry. I guess I missed you. How is Chase doing? Give me a call when you get home. My number is-"

House didn't hear what the number was because as soon as he heard Wilson's voice he'd gotten up and made a beeline for the phone. Unfortunately he'd bumped his right leg against the coffee table, loosing his balance and falling to his knees. With a last ditch effort he reached out to the phone that rested on a table beside the TV. He felt the handset against his skin.

"Wilson?" he asked, hoping that Wilson hadn't hung up yet. He let out a gasp of pain as he repositioned himself.

"Are you okay, House? What the hell is going on?" Wilson. It was honestly Wilson. House felt himself smile through the pain.

"I…"

Wilson waited for House to finish but when it was apparent that he wasn't going to he started talking. "You what? House, you had better not be hurting yourself. Please…" he pleaded.

To hear that pleading tone in Wilson's voice, it drove a dagger into his heart. The morphine overdose had given Wilson a bad scare. And now House felt guilty every time his near death experience got brought up. "No. I was sitting in the dark, brooding over work. And when I got up to answer the phone I hit my leg against the table and fell."

"Not your right leg?"

"Yeah," House smiled in the dark. "Now I'm sitting here on the floor wishing you were sitting with me. I've missed you so much, Wilson."

"I've missed you, too," Wilson said, his voice breaking. "They've been keeping me pretty busy, though. My patient load is twice the size and I haven't even finished unpacking or gotten my computer set up. It's hell. And the doctors here, let's just say they leave me wishing even more that I was back there. They have no sense of humor. I swear to god they're all doom and gloom."

House felt this indescribable pain in his heart, something he'd never felt before, something he wished would go away. "Work isn't the same without you. No one comes to talk to me when I'm standing on my balcony. And all I have is a set of squabbling monkeys. Don't even get me started on how lonely the apartment is without you."

"How's Chase?" Wilson asked.

"Getting worse and I can't figure out why. Now he has pneumonia on top of whatever it was that got him admitted to being with; whether it's a symptom or not is what I can't figure out," House told him.

"You'll figure it out, House. You always do." House heard voices in the background. "Look, I have to go. I still have at least another half hour of work. I just wanted to hear your voice. I'll see you this weekend. I plan to leave as soon as I'm done here Friday night."

"Yeah, the weekend," House mumbled, his good mood deflating.

"Hang in there, House, for me. Please. I love you."

"I love you, too," he said, feeling the tears slide down his cheeks as he hung up the phone.


	14. Good Things Happen

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Slash, language, angst.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: Good Things Happen**

He arrived at work the next day feeling more like his usual self. Having heard from Wilson boosted his spirits. And now they were one day closer to being able to see each other again. Now if only a few other things in his life would start looking up. Like Chase getting better. And finding a way to repair his friendship with Cuddy.

Of course, his friendship problems with Cuddy were solely his fault. After nearly killing him and then sending Wilson away, could anyone really blame him for feeling he couldn't trust her? He did miss strutting into her office in the middle of the day and asking for her permission to perform outrageous tests on his patients, stating that he absolutely had to do them. With Wilson gone and Chase sick and Cuddy seemingly avoiding him, there were fewer people to piss off during the course of his day.

He strolled into his office and placed his bookbag by his desk, like he did every day. Looking into the adjoining room he saw Foreman resting, sitting at the table, and resting atop it. Cameron was missing. He purposely threw the door open so that it would make a loud noise and startle Foreman; which it did. Awakened and surprised, Foreman nearly fell out of hi chair before he realized what had happened. The look he flashed in House's direction would have killed the wicked witch of the west.

"Good morning, Foreman, taking a nap instead of helping your friend? I'm sure Chase will love hearing about how you tried so hard to save his life," House joked, walking across the room toward the coffee. He'd been up most of the night thinking about Wilson.

"Forgive me for grabbing a quick wink while you rested at home in your bed," retorted Foreman. "And I don't have to worry about checking on Chase. Cameron takes it upon herself to do all that stuff, leaving me to run the blood tests and look over medical volumes." He stretched and let out a really big yawn.

Just then Cameron into the room, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Sleeping with the patient while they're being treated isn't exactly the greatest idea in the world, Dr Cameron," House chastised mockingly.

Cameron rolled her eyes. "I just came from visiting with Chase and it looks like the antibiotics are working on the pneumonia. The symptoms of the chest infection aren't as bad as they were yesterday. He finally stopped coughing up blood about three hours ago." She grabbed a cup of coffee and settled at the table across from Foreman.

"And his other symptoms?" House asked, limping over to the white board. He left his cane leaning against the counter by the coffee maker. Sometimes it was nice to go without. He could still recall those few precious days after getting shot when he hadn't needed the cane at all. But like all pleasant things in his life, those days had been short lived.

"Unfortunately, they don't appear to be going away," Cameron responded.

"So we now know that the pneumonia wasn't a symptom," House said, erasing it from the board.

"Hold up, a lot of illnesses can cause pneumonia, it can still be considered a symptom," objected Foreman.

"I'd rather focus on something other than his raspy lungs," House said, hoping to stave off a fight between Cameron and Foreman and himself. Today he just wasn't in the mood. "Keep running tests and check on him on an hourly bases. Something is bound to give us an answer."

Foreman closed the leather bound volume on the table and left the room with Cameron right behind him. House was happy to have the room to himself, to think about how lovely last night's call to Wilson had been, even if it only lasted a few minutes. Taking a seat at the table, he put his bum leg up on one of the other chairs and pulled the book toward him. Some little tidbit of knowledge inside held the key to Chase's health issues. It was up to him to find it, since he wasn't likely to fall asleep on the job.

"House?"

"What?" He didn't bother looking up at Cuddy.

"I wanted to give you something yesterday but I got busy with meetings and other doctors," she said, placing a piece of paper on the table. "Sorry, I thought about just leaving it on your desk when I breezed by at one point but then I thought, what if you don't get it? So I decided I would make it my first order of business today."

"And what would it be? A new rule stating that I have to wear my white coat? Haven't we been done that road once before? What else do the moneybags want me to do? Stop using my cane?" he replied somewhat unhappily.

Cuddy pushed the paper across the table, closer to him. "No, nothing at all like that. They haven't bothered with me since….well…"

"Figures."

"House-"

"Money talks, loyalty walks. No, wait," he looked up, a scowl on his face, "that's not right."

"House, would you just take the damn thing?" Cuddy snapped.

He looked at her. "I'm not signing anything that states I did this or I did that while under the influence of drugs. I do _everything_ under the influence of drugs." He could see that he was pushing all the right buttons this morning. Cuddy looked about ready to explode.

"Fine," she gave in, snatching the paper. "I guess I'll just have to tell Wilson that you didn't want his new phone number or address or any of the other stuff he sent me." She waltzed- more like sashayed- out the door, the paper in her hand.

House completely forgot that Cuddy was going to give him that information. Now he felt like an ass; which was a rare occasion. He got up so fast that both chairs toppled over. "Hey, wait a minute," he called, hobbling toward the door. He opened it and stepped out into the hallway but Cuddy was already down by the elevators and without his cane he wouldn't catch her time. He felt deflated, his head hanging, his eyes studying the tile floor.

A little paper airplane came to rest at his feet. Before he could bend down to pick it up someone else snatched it. He straightened, finding Cameron smiling at him. "Here."

He took the paper from her and without even bothering to look at it, slipped it into his jacket pocket. He knew what it was. He knew that the last thing Cuddy wanted to do was drive them farther apart by keeping him from Wilson entirely.


	15. So Long

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash.**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: So Long**

_Five days later…_

House sat in his apartment. The lights off, the curtains drawn, the door and windows locked tightly. He hadn't stepped outside in two days. Two whole days of sitting on his couch or lying in his bed. Two days of being alone with his thoughts. The answering machine flashed red to alert him to the messages left. He never played them. He heard them all as they were left. He didn't answer the phone and he didn't call them back.

All of the messages were from the hospital. Foreman calling to tell him how Chase was progressing; which was down the wrong road. They'd gotten rid of the pneumonia but now he was starting to look jaundiced. His liver was failing. And still, House stayed in his apartment. Cameron called to plead with him, to ask that he come back to work and see to Chase. He ignored her. Cuddy called twice. Anyone would have been able to hear the worry in her voice. And still, he sat on the couch.

The one person he wanted to hear from wasn't calling. Yesterday he let his hopes get up every time he heard the phone ring. Only to have them be dashed when it was some from the hospital. Never Wilson. The weekend had come and gone. No Wilson. House felt like a fool. He'd been downright joyful when he rolled out of bed on Saturday morning, knowing that it would only be a few hours until Wilson was at his door.

But Saturday came and went.

And Sunday, too.

He tried calling Wilson, both at his office and through his cell phone, but he never got more than the answering machine or voice mail. He left messages on both but no longer cared. Wilson wasn't returning his calls. It was as House had feared. Wilson moved on quickly. He wondered if he was being replaced by another doctor or some nurse. Not that it really mattered.

He'd done the stupidest thing in the world. He'd given his heart away and now he was left alone to pick up the pieces. This happened to him every single time. He should have learned his lesson by now. Never give his heart, never get his hopes up.

Closing his eyes he drifted off, falling into the land of oblivion. Sweet oblivion. Let the world move right along without him. Let them all forget about him so that he may rot away in his apartment; depressed and alone. His dreams were puffs of smoke, coming and going like leaves on the wind. Some of them starred his colleagues. Wilson was in one of them. Dream Wilson showed up at House's door with some skinny little blond thing on his arm. He wanted to tell House how happy he was with wife number four. Or was it wife number five? He didn't care, he was just happy and he wanted House to share in his joy.

The sound of someone pounding on his door woke him. He'd lost all sense of time sitting in the dark. But he was pretty sure he knew who was at the door and he didn't make any attempts to budge from his spot on the couch. The person outside kept knocking, demanding entrance.

"House!" Cuddy yelled. "House, you open this door right now."

"Go away," he snapped.

"Dammit, House, stop acting like a child and open the door," she said

"I don't want to. Go away."

She kicked the door. "You're an asshole, House. You know that? One of your friends is dying and you're too busy feeling sorry for yourself."

"Not my friend," he muttered. True, Chase worked for him but they were never really friends. Wilson had been his friend, his lover. And now Wilson was gone.

"House, please, just come talk to me," Cuddy said, her voice having lost all its anger.

"You're not going to go away until I open it, are you?"

"Nope. I can camp out here all damn day and all through the night. I have Pizza Hut on speed dial. Get your ass out here."

He hobbled across the door, his bum leg throbbing in pain. He yanked the door open. "What the hell is so important that you have to bug me?"

"You know, you're an ornery bastard when things don't go your way," she snapped. "And you want to know what baffles me the most? The fact that they sent Wilson away, that they transferred him to another state and you haven't done a damn thing about it! All you do is sit in your apartment and play Oh Woe is Me. Where is the House that fights dirty and doesn't care who he hurts to get what he wants?"

"He left," House said, turning and walking back into his apartment. Cuddy followed him, shutting the door behind her. "I thought about pitching a fit but then I thought better about it. The last thing I want to do is cost Wilson his job again. And if that's all you came here for, then you can leave. I'd like to get back to my wallowing now."

"That's not all I'm here for," she said, pulling a patient folder from the confines of her purse. He had seen it sticking out and tried to ignore it, knowing full well who it belonged to. "Instead of sitting in the dark waiting for Wilson to visit this weekend I suggest you get your ass back to the hospital. Spend all your time making Chase better. The week will fly by and you can spend some time with Wilson."

"He didn't show up this past weekend, what makes you think he'll show up this coming weekend?" he asked, anger and despair in his voice.

Her eyes got wide in surprise. "He didn't visit this weekend?" House shook his head. "Oh, House, I'm sorry. That's why you didn't come to work. I-"

He put up a hand to silence her. "Get out. You've come and said what you wanted. You played messenger and I didn't shot you. Now go back to your precious hospital, tell them that they need to find a new doctor. I no longer work for them. I quit."

What she said next took him by surprise. "Chase is starting to show signs of liver failure."


	16. These Hallways In My Mind

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer:** Angst, language, slash.**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: These Hallways in my Mind  
**

Before he even realized what had happened House was walking through the halls of the hospital, heading for Chase's room. Cuddy's words kept echoing in his mind. Liver failure. Chase was sliding down hill. And what he hated most was that he was letting his own grief consume him while his friend lay dying. All of which Cuddy had taken the time to point out. Why did she always have to be right and such a pain in his ass? And yet, what would he do without her? Other than Wilson she was really the only other one willing to stand up to him. Even Foreman gave up if House pushed hard enough.

He pushed the door of Chase's room open a crack. Chase slept soundly in his hospital bed, machines beeping and making other machine sounds around him. Even from where he was standing in the doorway, House could tell that Chase's skin had taken on a yellow tint. Never a good sign. Either the liver or gallbladder was failing. And well people could do without a gallbladder; not having a liver just wasn't an option. Waiting for a liver transplant wouldn't be much of an option either. Even as a doctor Chase wouldn't receive special care. Waiting lists for organs were long. Sure, he could get help by staying in the hospital but eventually everything would take its toll and Chase would die.

Leaving House feeling immensely responsible.

Closing the door he headed for his office and the adjoining room where he figured Foreman and Cameron would be camped out looking for answers. Sure enough, they sat at the table, medical volumes in front of them. House walked in, startling both of them, and went straight to the white board to write 'jaundice' and 'possible liver failure' on the board with the other symptoms.

"What causes liver failure?" he asked, keeping his back to them. He didn't want to see the looks in their eyes, especially Cameron. He could feel the blame even with his back turned.

"It may not exactly be liver failure," Foreman shot back, anger in his voice even though it was calm.

"Malaria causes jaundice," Cameron said. She ignored Foreman's remark and kept speaking. "It can't be Gilbert's Syndrome because that wouldn't put him in the hospital. And I doubt that he has Dubin-Johnson Syndrome since it's a rare genetic disorder."

House wrote these all down on the board. "Keep them coming."

Sighing, realizing that they weren't going to pay attention to him otherwise, Foreman said, "It could be a blockage. Something could be blocking the tube between the liver and gallbladder, stopping the movement of bile."

"There's a chance it could be hepatitis, that definitely causes jaundice," suggested Cameron, tears welling in her eyes. Even though she'd been trying to keep them to herself.

"For all we know he could have pancreatic cancer," stated Foreman, throwing down the pen he'd been holding. "There are a lot of things that can cause jaundice and not all of them are linked directly to liver failure."

"No," House said, still not turning to face them. "But a good portion of cases will tell you it's always the liver. Do a biopsy." He dropped the marker on the tray of the board and left the room, not even bothering to see if they took his orders. He entered his office, shutting and locking the door behind him. He could wallow here just as well as he could at home.

Resting his cane against his desk he sat in the chair, putting his legs up on the desk, leaning back and closing his eyes. Somewhere in Pennsylvania there was an oncologist that held the keys to unlock his heart. An oncologist that didn't seem to be missing him or care one way or another that House was falling apart. Without really thinking out the process he pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial. He listened to the ringing for a few minutes. But no one picked up. Nobody ever picked up. He let the phone fall to the floor.

He lied to Cuddy when she asked him why he didn't go storming into the offices of the higher ups and demand that they bring Wilson back. It wasn't because he was concerned about Wilson's job. He could care less about Wilson's job. No, the truth of it was that he didn't have the energy anymore. The affects of his near suicide a month ago was still taking a toll on him. Not that he would ever admit to anyone. He could barely stand to admit it to himself. Wilson knew about it. Wilson knew how he laid awake at night and about the nightmares he had when he did finally fall asleep. The pills were barely enough to keep the throbbing in his leg down to a minimum now. He walked around in constant pain, worse than before. Wilson knew all of this.

And he'd still left.

And it looked more and more like he wasn't going to come back. Not even for a visit. For years he had gone without loving another person. Now he found himself falling apart because he'd been stupid enough to open up to Wilson. He wouldn't make the mistake again. Having his heart broken once had obviously not been enough. But having it torn out had shown him that love didn't make the world go 'round.

There was a soft knock at the door and he looked over to see Cameron walk into his office. He'd forgotten to lock the door leading to the hallway. "What?" he barked, not caring if his voice was harsh.

"There's a blockage in his bile duct," she said.

"I thought I told you to run a biopsy."

"House."

He threw his hands up. "All right, all right. Prep him for surgery."

She left, wiping a hand across her cheek before stepping out into the hallway. House let his feet fall from the desk before grabbing his cane. He looked down at his watch and wondered what Wilson was doing at this moment. He wanted nothing more than to call Wilson and tell him everything that had been going on. But that attempt would have to wait until another time. Chase needed to go into surgery or things were going to get worse.


	17. Seeking Answers

**Title:** Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash.

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: Seeking Answers**

She didn't even bother to stick around and see if House went to work. She knew that deep down inside, even though he was mourning the loss of Wilson, that he would do the right thing by Chase. She had confidence in him. She knew him better than any of the others. She just hoped that he could think straight and wasn't game to try some freaky experiment to make Chase better. Chase needed a good doctor. House was a good doctor. When he could think. To say that she worried about him was an understatement. She worried more than she should have, and maybe a little more than she cared to, but that's life when it comes to House. There's a chance her feelings would have been different had he not tried killing himself. Something that was all her fault to begin with.

Now she wanted to make it up to him and there was only one way she could think of doing it.

She pulled into the parking lot and took the first available spot she could find. Shutting off her car and locking the door she took off for the hospital entrance. Rain had begun to fall but it was still just a steady drizzle, not yet an actual rain. Once inside the doors she gave her jacket a little shake while having a look around. The place was neat and clean, orderly the way a hospital should be. But it still wasn't home. She felt comfortable in hospitals, they felt familiar and warm to her. This place…it felt cold and unwelcoming.

Still, she had a mission.

Straightening her spine, with a purpose to her steps, she took off for the front desk. A nice elderly lady sat behind a computer with a nurse's uniform on. Her nametag was missing. When she looked up at Cuddy her pale blue eyes made Cuddy think of House. And once again she prayed that House had found his way to the hospital and that Chase would be okay. Cuddy told her why she was there. The lady politely responded and then told Cuddy to have a seat, that someone would be with her in just a few moments.

So she sat.

And waited for two hours.

Apparently they were shafting her, ignoring her presence. Someone upstairs must have told them to ignore the crazy chick that ran the hospital in New Jersey. She felt pissed. Angered. But definitely not defeated. She never felt defeated. Not until all her attempts were thwarted. And she still had a few tricks up her sleeves. Not that she'd have to use them. The person she came to see walked through the lobby and right out the front doors into the rain. Without missing a beat she took off after him.

"Wilson!" she yelled, her voice carrying across the parking lot. "Wilson, wait!"

He looked over his shoulder, his face hard to read. But he waited for her to catch up to him, all the while getting soaked by the now steady rain.

"Thank the heavens, I didn't think I'd see you," she said, stopping beside him. And in that close proximity she saw everything she needed to see. The dark circles under his eyes. The dark clouded that had settled over his features. The way his shoulders slumped. The light gone from him. He was a mirror image of House and it broke her heart.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice emotionless.

"Why else would I be here, Sherlock? I came looking for you. We need to talk," she said, placing a hand on his arm. She hoped he knew a nice place to have lunch so they could talk somewhere out of the rain.

"You're wasting your time. Just go back to New Jersey, Cuddy," he said, turning and walking away from her.

She'd never seen him this way before. All the anger in her dissipated, turning instead to anguish and despair. Three of her friends were suffering and there wasn't a damned thing she could do about it. She wasn't used to feeling so helpless. Whenever things got bad with House she could run to Wilson, get advice from him, or just share some worries. She still refused to give up. There was still hope.

"Dammit, Wilson," she barked, running up behind him as he unlocked his car door. "You're becoming as much a pain as House." At the mentioning of House, Wilson looked at her. "Why didn't you visit him this past weekend? Why haven't you called him? You do know that he's suffering. He hasn't even been by the pharmacy to pick up his pills. And I know he needs them because I saw the empty bottle sitting on his desk this morning. Wilson, what is wrong with you?"

"I'm tired," he stated, opening the car door and sliding behind the wheel.

She didn't waste any time in running around the back of the car and slipping through the passenger door. "Tired?"

"I have twice the caseload here that I had back there. They keep me running every minute of every day. The only time I have to myself is when I'm sleeping," he explained, his head resting back against the seat. "I tried to get away over the weekend but they said I had to attend this convention they were running. I haven't slept a full night since getting here. Hell, I haven't even had time to unpack. Everything is still in boxes."

There was only one thing she could think to say. "He misses you."

"I know," he said shortly.

"Take the rest of the day off. Cancel your appointments and drive back with me," she suggested.

"I wish I could," he sighed.

"Who says you can't?" she pushed. "It's obvious that neither one of you is doing all that good. If you could just spend a few hours together…." she trailed off. Silence settled over them like a dense fog. It was uncomfortable. She'd never felt this way around him. "Chase is getting worse. The further House sinks the worse Chase gets." Playing the guilt card.

Wilson looked back to the building, thinking about how it resembled a prison; by look and feel. They'd kept him prisoner long enough. Even though he was tired the idea of seeing House again filled him with a warmth he had experienced since coming to this retched place. He turned to her. "All right. I'm going to pay for it in the long run, but it'll be worth it. You're driving though."


	18. Wallowing

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Slash, angst, and language.**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: Wallowing  
**

House sat in his office like he had many times before, bouncing a ball off the wall. He knew what lay on the other side of the wall but he never stopped to care long enough if his ball bouncing disturbed anyone. Let them complain. What did it matter to him? Chase's surgery had gone well and every hour Cameron came in to tell him how less yellow the sick doctor looked. They'd saved him from bladder failure but still hadn't figured out what caused him to be sick in the first place. The puzzle was driving House crazy. Probably because he couldn't find the time to think about it.

All his thoughts were consumed by Wilson.

Why didn't Wilson call? Why didn't Wilson come visit? What was Wilson doing now? Did Wilson think about him even once, in a fleeting moment? Would he ever see Wilson again, hear his voice, and look into his eyes? Or would he sit here in this damn office thinking about Wilson and what they had, what they could have had?

He threw the ball at the wall with a bit of extra force. He caught it and let it drop to the floor, where it rolled toward the office door. The sun was starting to set outside and he was no closer to solving any of his problems. Some days, it really sucked to be him. Technically two hours remained in his work schedule but he wasn't in the mood to stick around the hospital. It just wasn't the same without Wilson barging into his office. Or him going and barging in on Wilson and stealing half of whatever sandwich the oncologist was eating.

Grabbing his book bag he headed for the elevators. Walking hurt more than usual. He'd failed to pick up his prescription. The pills did so little for the pain that seemed to be eating away at him day after day that he just figured they'd be a waste of time. Let someone else have them. Cuddy should be happy, he thought, as he limped along in pain. For once he wasn't popping pills all day long. He chose to suffer. He chose to experience the pain in his leg. Maybe it would eventually numb the pain in his heart. He could only hope.

His leg must have been truly bothering him. He put too much pressure on his cane, the aged wood giving out with a sudden, loud crack. He tumbled to the floor, his cane lying in two pieces beside him. The first thought that ran through his mind was that Wilson had sawed half-way through his cane while he slept, just like he'd done months before. But that would mean Wilson was still around. And he wasn't. House was surprised to find himself fighting the urge to cry.

Someone offered him a hand. "Let me help you up."

House looked up into the hazel eyes of man with brown hair. That's where there resemblance to Wilson faded, well, aside from the guy's obvious nice gesture. Resigned, House took the man's hand and let him pull him to his feet. Once on his feet, House leaned back again the wall, not able to put even the slightest bit of weight on his leg. The pain had intensified with the fall. All he wanted to do was bath in morphine, erase all his pain. But first he'd have to get away from the white-coat wearing doctor in front of him and get home.

"Your doctor should have given you a better cane," the new guy said, having picked up the two pieces of wood from the floor.

"My doctor?" House echoed in disbelief. The guy had no idea who he was talking to.

"Yes, who were you seeing? I'd like to give them a piece of my mind. Sending a crippled out with a shitty cane," the guy shook his head in disdain.

House's eyes narrowed. He tore the broken pieces from the other doctor's hands. "For your information, I'm not crippled. And I don't know where you're mommy is but you're a bit old to be playing doctor. So why don't you go skipping on back to her and this time keep a firm hold on her hand?"

The new guy studied House, making him uncomfortable. "Now I get it. I've just met the infamous Doctor House. You're just what I expected, and yet, at the same time you're not. The name is John Kincaid. I'm the new oncologist."

Those last words pierced right through House's heart and he visibly winced. New oncologist. Replacing Wilson. Cuddy could have at least mentioned the new transfer instead of letting them meet this way. If he hadn't already decided to dislike the guy that last sentence set his feelings in stone. No one could replace Wilson. Never. And here this guy stood, all smug and properly dressed, looking at him with those eyes, probably thinking about how they were going to be friends. Sure, when hell froze over.

The silence became too much for Dr. Kincaid. "Um…if you want I can fetch you another cane. I'd only be a minute."

"Leave me alone," House said, making his voice cold and hard. He wasn't going to put up with someone who looked fresh out of school.

"I-"

"House," Cameron called, walking up to the two of them. She looked ready to say something when she saw the broken cane in House's hand and redirected her thoughts. "Are you okay? Is your leg bothering you?" she asked, noticing how he held it up off the floor.

"Wow, give the girl a cookie, she got the right answer," House remarked. He wanted to go home. He wanted to curl up in his bed. Instead he was standing here in the hallway being humiliated in front of the new doctor. Could the day get any worse?

"Excuse me, I can handle things," she said, clearly dismissing the new oncologist, much to House's relief. Dr Kincaid wasted no time in getting lost, disappearing further down the hallway into what used to be Wilson's office. Another pang of hurt stab at House. Further proof that Wilson was gone and not coming back. "How about I give you a ride home? Riding a motorcycle doesn't seem like an option for you tonight."

"What about your precious Chase, don't you want to stay by his side?"

Cameron looked at him. "Stop it, House. You're not going to drive me away. I'm going to fetch a wheelchair and take you home. I can always return to the hospital later." And she left, not giving him the chance to argue with her. And since his leg hurt to the point that even touching his toes to the ground made him want to scream, he stayed where he was. She returned with a wheelchair used for patients and helped him get settled. He never said a word. Not even when she began to wheel him toward the elevator and out into the lobby. He just didn't care anymore.


	19. Saving Grace

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Diclaimer: **Angst, language, slash.**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen: Saving Grace  
**

House had been sitting in his apartment the last few hours. Cameron had left him situated on the couch before taking off back to the hospital to keep a watch over Chase. She had shared with him on the drive home that Chase wasn't improving and that he looked to be getting worse. House pretended to pay attention but in the long run he remembered only half of what she said to him. The rest of it went in one ear and out the other. Now he just sat there on the couch like he had so many times before without feeling anything but the constant throb in his leg. The pain was starting to get to him. He'd tried so hard, so many times, to make it go away but it remained.

At some point he may have passed out. He wasn't sure. What he did know was that he was sitting on the couch stewing in his own self hatred and the next he was lying on the floor in the small hallway that led to his bedroom, the pain in his leg even worse. And someone was knocking at his door. He couldn't even get up to answer so he didn't bother. He figured that by the time he did manage to climb to his feet that they'd be long gone. But the knocking just kept coming, its rhythm never slowing down.

He struggled to his feet, using the wall for support. But when he went to hobble forward his bum leg gave out, sending him back to the floor, where he landed with a thump, the knee of his bad leg making a solid connection with the floor. He yelled out in pain. He didn't care if the whole damn city heard him. He was in pain. He rolled onto his back, tears in his eyes.

He heard a key in the lock of his door. Heard someone open and close it. That same person flicked on a light, bathing the room in a soft glow. He heard their shoes on the carpet. And then he saw Wilson crouching down beside him and he started to laugh.

"What's so damn funny?" Wilson asked.

"You're not real," House gasped between laughs. "The pain's gotten so bad that I'm hallucinating now."

Wilson frowned. "I'm not a hallucination, House. I'm the real deal. The real Wilson."

House kept laughing.

Wilson rolled his eyes. He bent over House, bringing their lips together in a simple kiss, a simple gesture to prove that he was real and not some damned hallucination. He felt the warmth course through his body, the stress of the last few days washing away. He felt home, where he belonged, with the person he belonged with. After a second he pulled away. House was no longer laughing; he was just staring at Wilson, the most interesting look upon his face. To Wilson it looked like House wanted to be happy but he was tormented by the pain in his leg and something else, something Wilson couldn't figure out.

"I'm sorry," Wilson stated, taking hold of House's arm and helping him to his feet. It was all that was said as he led House back to the bedroom, where the doctor sat heavily on the foot of the bed. Wilson stood before him. Judging by the tousled look of the sheets and blankets on the bed House had been sleeping as well as he had been since the move. "I'm sorry I didn't come, House."

House turned pale blue eyes on Wilson, not sure of his own feelings. He finally had what he'd been wanting the last few days and he wasn't even sure what to do about it anymore. He just didn't care. "Whatever," he muttered.

The response baffled Wilson. It hadn't been exactly what he'd expected. From what Cuddy told him on the drive over, before he fell asleep, House had become some walking zombie without a care in the world. She was worried about him. Even Foreman expressed his concerns. The oncologist figured that House would be overjoyed to see him, that he'd be at least marginally happy. Instead House had surprised him once again by being indifferent and a touch distant. He knelt on the floor in front of House, placing his hands on House's sides. House visibly flinched. On a whim Wilson pulled up the edge of House's shirt.

"What the hell….House," he sighed, looking at the four cuts along the doctor's ribcage, all of them in different stages of healing. He let the shirt slip from his hands. He stood, anger pushing its way to the forefront of his emotions. "You know, when Cuddy told me that you weren't taking your Vicadin I admit that I wasn't sure what to think. On one hand I figured it was a good sign, that you'd finally given up on the drug. But on the other I was worried about the pain and how it was affecting you. Now I guess I know….." he trailed off. He'd been pacing while he talked. The entire time House just sat there watching him like a lost kid. "I'm sorry, House," he said. "I'm sorry I couldn't come see you but they've been keeping me so damn busy that I barely have time to breathe. I never get a chance alone. Someone is always there when you call and I'm too afraid to answer the phone. I've been wanting to get away so much that I've contemplated quitting my job. And now here I am, in your apartment, looking at you suffer, and you haven't even said two decent words to me other than to call me an hallucination."

House stood, a little shaky on his feet. He closed the short distance between him and Wilson, ignoring the pain. He drew the other doctor close in an embrace, resting his forehead on Wilson's shoulder. He gripped the back of Wilson's shirt in his fist as he started crying, the pain and heartache of the last few days finally finding a release. And all the while Wilson held him, not saying anything, the warmth of his body the only comfort that House needed.


	20. Heart Stopping

**Title: **Mending A Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Language, slash, and angst.**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty: Heart Stopping**

Cuddy stared across her desk at him, not believing the words that were coming out of his mouth, not wanting to believe that everything she was hearing was true. But there was no denying it. The paperwork lay in front of her on her desk, staring her in the face. She shook her head trying to make heads or tails of what she'd heard. But try as she might it just didn't make sense to her. Maybe she had never been that in love before. She couldn't remember the last time she was willing to sacrifice everything for one person. And had she dwelled on that thought long enough there'd be no doubt that it would lead to her own depression.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked him, gesturing at the paper. "You do know that this is a big change, something that you can't take back once it's done?"

Wilson nodded. "I'm aware of that, Cuddy. But I can't go back to that hospital. I'm not happy there. The doctors there don't care about their patients; all they care about are numbers. I don't understand why the directors thought that I would be fine working there. This is where I belong and if they won't have me here…"

"But handing in your resignation?"

"I can move back here and be with House," he explained. "I belong here, with him. I need him and he needs me. Unfortunately, this is the only way I can see to put things back to rights."

"But all your stuff is back in Pennsylvania. And you've worked so hard at your career," Cuddy stated, sounding a bit like a whiny child even though she was still shocked. She couldn't believe that Wilson wanted to give up everything to be with House. She'd never thought anyone would go that far.

"All my stuff is still packed in boxes. I haven't had the time to unpack. I'm tired day in and day out," he explained, getting to his feet. "At the rate I'm going I'll be working my way into the grave. I want time to sleep, to get away from the hospital and do other things. Unfortunately that's not an option back there, and I know they won't hire me back here. So this is the only answer."

Cuddy chewed her bottom lip but nodded her head in agreement. She could see what he was saying, could hear the unhappiness in his voice. "All right, if it's what you really want to do, I'll pass this along to the directors, give them your answer. They won't be happy, though. You are one of the best oncologists in the business right now."

"I don't care," Wilson said simply. "Work isn't as important anymore. I let it ruin all my other relationships, thinking that I spent so much time at the hospital searching for a cure to help my patients, when in reality I was spending so much time here to be around House. It took me a long time to realize that it was him that I wanted to be with, that he was the one that made me happy, even if he does piss me off. I'm not going to mess up this time."

"Wilson-"

"I have to go," he said, pushing open her office door. "I need to call a moving company, get my stuff brought back here. I'm done with Pennsylvania."

Wilson walked out of Cuddy's office with a feeling that he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was a sense of peace, of having finally done the right thing with his life. Yes, he was going to miss going into work each day and trying to make a different in a sick person's life but he had so few options ahead of him. There was a chance, that if he had the money in the bank he could open his own smaller clinic and tell each of his patients about it. They could leave the hospital, still keep him as a doctor, and maybe then the directors would realize what a big mistake they'd made. No one fucked with his life. With the exception of House, of course.

He looked at his watch, wondering if House was at the hospital yet. He'd left him sleeping peacefully in the bed to come here and hand his resignation to Cuddy. But now he was beginning to think that that was a bad idea, that he should have stayed home or at least have awakened House to tell him he was going out for a little while. Hell, he could have had the decency to leave him a note. He smacked the palm of his hand against his forehead.

"Wilson? What are you doing back here?"

He spun around to face Cameron. She looked like hell, her eyes puffy and red from the crying she'd been doing over Chase. "I'm resigning. I can't take being out in Pennsylvania and it's a rather long story that I don't want to go through yet again. How's Chase?"

"Not really getting any better. If House doesn't put more concentration into this, Chase is going to die," she mumbled, not brave enough to look Wilson in the eyes. She was trying to hold back more tears. Though she was surprised she had any left cry. It seemed to be all she was doing lately.

Wilson offered her a sympathetic and kind smile before giving her a hug. "Don't worry. With me back I'm sure he'll resort to his old grumpy self again and Chase will be better before you know it. In fact, I was just going to ask if House had made it in yet. When I left him he was sleeping and…"

She shook her head. "He's not in yet. I came down here to see if maybe Cuddy had caught him on his way in and was giving him a lecture, not that they ever do her any good."

The feeling of peace that had settled over Wilson began to fade, being replaced with a sense of dread. He'd left House alone. He'd seen the evidence first hand the night before of how well House was coping with things. Even in the light of the day thinking about those ugly cuts made him shiver. He never realized just how much House needed him. They'd both been blind for so long. A silence settled over the two of them while they were consumed with their own thoughts. The sudden ringing of Wilson's cell phone made them jump. He pulled the small phone from his pocket while Cameron giggled at herself, a half-hearted giggle Wilson noted.

"Hello?"

"I…it…I mean…"

Wilson looked at Cameron, his eyes filled with so many emotions. He felt like the floor was falling out from underneath him at that moment. The tone of House's voice, the sudden sense of lose, the lack of emotion, he'd only ever heard him sound that way once before. When he'd tried to kill himself.


	21. Yours Completely

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Slash, language, and angst.**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One: Yours Completely  
**

Wilson finally stopped pacing, standing in one spot with his hands on his hips. He eyed House who sat in the back of an ambulance that had parked along the curb in front of House's apartment. The paramedic was busy doing his job and Wilson noticed that House wasn't looking at him, that he was looking everywhere but at the oncologist. Wilson cleared his throat in hopes of catching House's attention. The doctor's eyes flickered in his direction but didn't linger.

"I don't understand you, House," Wilson spoke, the silence between them having been too much for him to handle. "I thought you were fine…"

House continued to say nothing, this time watching the paramedic applying the finishing touches to the bandage on his arm. "Change it daily and it should heal nicely, but you'll always have a scar," the paramedic remarked, dismissing House.

He was all too happy to get off the ambulance's bumper and head back to his apartment. Wilson said something to the medic that got caught in the wind and didn't reach House's ears. He limped into the building, his cane having been left beside the couch when the medics showed up. Instead of bothering to grab it he hobbled into his bedroom and shut the door before falling back into bed. The knife that he'd used to cut his arm lay on the floor, his blood still on the blade. He rolled onto his back so that he wouldn't have to see it.

A few minutes later the bedroom door opened. "Why?" was all that Wilson said as he sat at the foot of the bed.

"I thought you…" House's voice cracked. The last few days had been hell for him. He lost everything and gained it all back in the span of two weeks. It was a lot to take in. But to wake up in the morning and find that Wilson wasn't there, he'd thought the night before a dream and nothing more. When he called Wilson he thought he was calling him in Pennsylvania, the pain clogging his mind. He never expected his lover to arrive a handful of minutes later.

"I'm sorry, House. I never should have just left but there was something that had to be done this morning," explained Wilson. "If you'll forgive me…"

"Don't leave me again, please," whispered House.

Wilson hesitated before answering. "House…I have to go back out. That thing I told you about, that had to be done this morning? There is still one more part of that needs to be taken care of at the hospital." He checked his watch. "And I need to be back at the hospital in the hour."

"Then I'm coming with you," House said, sitting up in bed. "I need to pick up my prescription anyway."

"Promise me you'll check on Chase while you are there," Wilson said, standing, offering his hand to House and pulling him to his feet. "Cameron is really worried that you…" The words died on his lips.

"I what?"

Wilson ran a hand through his hair. It wasn't like him to be nervous around House. He was the only one in the hospital with enough balls to stand up to House each and every time the ornery doctor needed it. Sure, Cuddy could be ruthless and cruel but she never took the time to get inside House's mind the way that Wilson had. This was the first time he could remember being uncomfortable about talking to House.

"Wilson?"

"Well…you haven't been yourself lately," he said slowly. "It's like you've gotten lost and only part of you came back. What happened to the House that used to fight dirty and low? I got sent away, House, and you never once tried to stop them. Do you know that the entire time I was there I thought that you were happy I was gone? That was until Cuddy showed up at the hospital and told me how you were fairing. Why didn't you fight, House? Why aren't you fighting for Chase the way you fight for the people you don't know? Why aren't you _you_ anymore?"

House looked into his eyes. "You know about the night terrors, Wilson. You've known how hard it's been for me this last month or so since I…fucked up. All right, I admit that I haven't been myself but I'm still trying to get my land legs back, so to speak. I was still trying to return to me when they took you away. Forgive me for not being strong all the time. When you left, the ground I'd been building underneath my feet shattered and began to fall away."

Suddenly Wilson stepped forward and wrapped his arms around House. He kissed the doctor on his cheek, his chin, his lips. "I'm not going anywhere this time, House. But I have to be clear with you on one thing," he said, stepping back so that he could look House in the eyes. "I don't love what you've become. I don't love this creature that lurks in the darkness of his bedroom and hurts himself. That's not you, it's not who I fell in love with over the years. I miss the stubborn fool that took pride in pissing people off. I want that House back."

"And if he doesn't come back?" House asked, his heart starting to ache. "Will you leave me, then? Will you take your stuff and walk back out the door and never look back?"

Wilson studied him, looking into his blue eyes, his gaze never wavering. "I don't know, House. I just don't know. I can't live with you like this. It scares me to think I might come home one night and find you gone because you took your life. Losing you would destroy my world. But watching you destroy yourself pains me more than you could ever imagine. I don't deserve to suffer for loving you, House. It's not fair."

To his surprise, House felt a tear slide down his cheek. "I'm sorry, Wilson," he said. Lately it had been Wilson doing all the apologizing; it was about time that he did some of his own. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Just promise me that you'll stop this," Wilson pleaded. "I'm not going anywhere, House. I'm yours if you want me."


	22. Old Habits

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, and slash.**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Old Habits**

It was House's turn to pace while he waited for Wilson to return. He was walking the floor of his office, music streaming from the speakers of his computer. His mind was playing back the conversation that they'd had before leaving the house. Of course, Wilson had been right. Since the overdose on morphine he'd been anyone but himself. The old House would never have let them take Wilson without a fight. He had no one to blame for his unhappiness but himself. Had he at least tried to keep Wilson in New Jersey and still failed, then he would have that right to be mad at them, to use them as an excuse for his unhappiness.

And what about Chase? That had been another valid point made by Wilson. He prided himself on solving the cases that no one else could. He had a stellar record with more patients walking out the doors than the other doctors in the hospital. He fought hard for Foreman when he got sick and was quarantined. He fought until the end, even when it looked like there would be no winning. That was the kind of person he was. He never gave up until death claimed the soul of the patient he was trying to save. He saved Foreman. Now Chase lay in the hospital bed waiting for House to help him and instead he was dying because House couldn't think about anyone but himself. He should have been here day and night, locked in his office going over every disease he could think of until he found whatever it was that conflicted Chase.

The old House was gone. And as he paced the office he realized that even he had grown to loath the person he'd become the last few weeks. He hated the looks on their faces, the way their eyes betrayed them. They all worried about him. He hated that.

Cameron walked into his office at that precise moment, startled to see him there. "House…"

He raised an eyebrow. She was wearing the same clothes she had on that night she drove him home. Unlike him she had been at the hospital day and night trying to save Chase. When he looked into her eyes he saw the same pain and anguish that he felt mirrored back at him. Her losing Chase was like him losing Wilson.

"Why are you in here?"

He looked around. "It's my office…that's my name on the door."

"That's not what I meant," she rolled her eyes.

"Wilson said he had something to take care of so I thought I'd wait here for him," House replied, perching on the edge of his desk. He wanted to ask her about Chase, wanted to know how the Aussie was doing but felt a touch apprehensive.

Cameron looked surprised. "You're just going to sit there while Wilson hands in his resignation? You're going to let him end his career?" She shook her head. "You've changed, House. Even Foreman doesn't know what to make of you, anymore. He misses the old you."

"This coming from the man that said he was afraid of becoming me…" he trailed off. "Wait, Wilson is handing in his resignation? That's why we're here? I thought he was trying to get his job back."

She shook her head. "Nope. As we speak he's in Cuddy's office talking with a few of the board members."

House grabbed his cane and tore out of the office as fast as he could. Something inside of him snapped when it came to the idea of Wilson leaving his job behind so that he could stay with House. Why should the oncologist be the one to lose? The two of them had been through so much because the hospital board of directors, as they liked to be called, kept toying with them, telling them that they couldn't love each other without actually saying the words. Now a good doctor was giving up his career because he didn't want to play their games anymore. He couldn't let it happen. He couldn't let Wilson leave. It would eat away at the both of them for the next…well, who knew how long. And the old House would have never let things get this far. He had a lot of ground the cover to return to his old self but this looked like a good place to start.

He took the elevator down to the ground floor, hoping the entire way that he wasn't too late. He went as fast as his good leg and cane would allow, bursting in to Cuddy's office. His sudden appearance made everyone in the room jump.

Cuddy stood. "House, this is a private meeting-"

"Shut up," he barked. "I didn't come here to talk to you. I came here to talk to them." House gestured at the older men in the office. Wilson stared at him with wide eyes but remained quiet.

"Dr. House, this matter doesn't concern you," Mr. Dixon said, stepping forward, his hands clasped in front.

"And dogs don't lick themselves," retorted House. "You guys are a bunch of homophobic old farts. You're willing to ruin the reputation of your best hospital because you can stand the fact that Wilson and I make kissy face."

"Dr. House," warned Mr. Dixon, his face growing red with anger.

House slammed his cane into the floor. "Shut up, I wasn't done talking." He went to stand by Wilson, and noticed that Cuddy had taken her seat again, quietly observing things. "It was brought to my attention that Wilson is here to hand in his resignation. He has told me how he loathed being in Pennsylvania, how he never got a chance to breath. When he told me earlier today that he was staying I figured he was here to fight for a transfer back. Now I know I was wrong and I'm here to say one thing."

"And what would that be, Dr. House?" Mr. Dixon inquired.

"If Wilson goes, then so do I,' House stated.

"You have got to be kidding me."

Up until now Wilson had kept silent but he picked that moment to join the conversation. "House, don't do this. Without your job you'll be lost."

"Put a sock in it, Wilson," House said to him. He noticed a sparkle in Wilson's eyes as he shut his mouth. The old House was trying to come back and making one hell of an effort.

"Let me spell this out for you," House said to the group of older men. "If you send Wilson packing, then I quite. Chase dies because no other doctor in this hospital is as good as I am at diagnosing patients. The media mysteriously gets a hold of the reason why a doctor died in your hospital and before you know this place is being picketed. Does that sound like a nice way to do business?"

Mr. Dixon narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I would," assured House.

After a moment Mr. Dixon started laughing. "Give me a break, Dr. House. You won't let Chase die. He's your colleague, your friend."

"He tattled on me out once and he's replaceable. I can have a new team member in under a day," House said, not backing down. This wasn't Wilson's fight anymore it. This was his fight, his chance to stop spiraling downhill and return to his former self. The Dr. House that Wilson loved.

Dixon turned his gaze to Wilson who shrugged. He looked at Cuddy who said calmly, "I wouldn't toy with him. When House makes up his mind it's nearly impossible to change it."

"So what's it going to be?" House asked impatiently.

Mr. Dixon was about to reply when one of the other men stepped forward and spoke first. "All right, Dr. House. We'll meet your terms; Wilson can come back to working here. But on one condition."

"And that would be?"

"You have to save Dr. Chase. If you fail in that mission then Dr. Wilson will be on his way back to Pennsylvania or ruining his career; whichever he chooses. Do you accept these terms?"

Without missing a beat House replied, "Yes." And before anyone could say another word he was walking out of the office, heading for the elevators. He'd spend every waking minute in the hospital until he figured out what it was that Chase had. And when he found it, he'd relax safe in the knowledge that Wilson wasn't going anywhere.


	23. Answers

**Title: **Mending A Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, slash, and language.**  
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**Chapter Twenty-Three: Answer**

Wilson walked into the room, a look of exasperation on his face. "House, are you ever going to come home? You've been here for the last three days." He plopped into the chair in front of the desk. He wrinkled his nose. "And you could use a shower."

"Smelling like daisies is not at the top of my list of things to do," remarked House, not even bothering to look up from the book that lay open upon his desk. Three days had come and gone and he still wasn't any closer to figuring out what Chase had. Meanwhile, Cameron kept him up to date on the ill doctor's condition, remarking that things were getting worse. In two days he would have to admit defeat and then watch Wilson give up his job to stay in the state with him. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't fail Chase. He couldn't fail Wilson.

He couldn't fail himself.

He needed to do this to prove to himself that he was still House, that he was still capable of doing his job and being an ass while doing it. So what if he hadn't been home in three days? Did that really matter? Of course it did. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and running his hands over his face. Sleeping on the floor of his office hadn't been good for his leg and he hadn't been spending time with Wilson.

"Working yourself to death won't make things better," Wilson said. "Have you taken the time to go see Chase, to talk with him and see what he has to say? I was just in there and he seems pretty lucid. Maybe you missed something."

House stood, grabbed his cane, and walked around his desk. He usually talked to the patients to get the gritty details of things they'd been doing before falling ill. He'd completely skipped that part of the game with Chase. Probably because speaking to Chase, seeing him lying in that bed, made House realize that he was all that stood between Chase and death. What if he did fail? What if he couldn't figure out what it was? Would Cameron ever forgive him? Would he ever forgive himself? He shook his head to chase the thoughts away.

A hand gripped his wrist and he looked at Wilson. "Promise me that you aren't doing this for my job, House. Promise that you're doing this to yourself so that you can save Chase. His life is more important that my job. I can always open my own practice. Chase only has one life."

Looking him in the eyes, House said, "I'm doing it for myself. I have….I…." Why was it that Wilson had been leaving him speechless lately? It was almost as though he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. When had that come about it? He used to get a thrill out of saying anything that popped into his head.

Wilson pulled him close and kissed him. It sent a tingling through House's body, from the tip of his head all the way down to his toes. He made a mental note to make sure he made it home that night so that he could spend some time with the man he loved. The drifted apart and House, trying so hard to be who he was, broke the moment.

"I thought you said I needed to shower," he smirked.

"You might smell like a monkey but that just means you're my monkey," Wilson remarked, smiling. "Now go save Chase."

"Yes, mommy," House said as he walked out the door of his office. He headed down the hall to Chase's room. Cameron sat sleeping in the chair near the bed. The position she was in looked uncomfortable to House. He poked at her leg with his cane, making her jump. She just about fell over, chair and all.

"House, what-"

He ignored her. "Chase," he said, shouting into Chase's ear. The pneumonia had gone away and his liver was functioning properly but that meant shit to House. They had only solved small pieces of the puzzles. Chase opened his eyes, the blue of them having turned a dully grey. House wasted no time. "Before you got sick, what were you doing? I want to know every damn detail."

House listened as patiently as he could while Chase tried to recall everything that had transpired in the days before he got sick. Most of the things he spoke of bored House, proving to be useless in the grand scheme of things. But then Chase mentioned that he'd been helping a friend, doing something in a lab. That caught House's attention. He perked right up and demanded to know everything about the lab and what exactly he was doing. Wilson came in as Chase began to explain that his friend was a vet.

No sooner had the word vet left his mouth than House knew what Chase had. The last piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. "That's it," he said, tapping his cane on the floor. "Why didn't you mention this friend sooner?"

"I don't see the importance-"

"You have Q Fever, you idiot," snapped House.

Wilson frowned. "Q Fever?"

House nodded. "It explains everything; the flu-like symptoms, the liver problems, the pneumonia. He got it from working in the vet lab. Start him on the proper antibiotics and he should be better before you know it."

Chase smiled, the gesture a little creepy since he was pale and sickly. "Thank you, House."


	24. Reassurance

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash, and possible violence.

**Author Note: **I apologize for the delay in this chapter being posted. The original version of this story had it ending on this chapter with a very short epilogue. However over the last few weeks I've been wrestling with the idea of continuing this story (maybe making it never ending...?) and have decided to write a few more chapters (lengths depends on how well you guys like it!). So I not only apologize for the delay but I'm also sorry for posting a short chapter. There is a new problem on the horizon so chapters will be longer in the future. Hope you guys want more House and Wilson!**  
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**Chapter Twenty-Four: Reassurance**

House was out on the balcony connected to his office, the door shut and locked behind him, or so he thought. He was leaning on the small wall, the cement biting into his elbows but he didn't care. The sun had set and there was a cool breeze. He'd closed his eyes and was content to listen to the sounds of the city around him as the gentle wind caressed his skin. Though everything seemed okay with his world he knew that it was only a matter of time before the world shoved more chaos at him. And how would he handle it then? Would he do things differently or would he hide within himself and become a completely different person? He figured that it would all have to do with how things worked out with Wilson. As he stood there he found comfort in knowing that the office that once belonged to Wilson was once again decorated with the trinkets the oncologist had been given. The room was full of everything that was Wilson.

That made House feel almost normal.

Almost.

Something still didn't feel right in his little world. He'd saved Chase's life and restored Cameron's faith in him by doing so. He'd gotten Wilson his job back and they were making plans to live together. So what was wrong? He had no wrongs to right with Foreman that he could think of and as far as he knew, it was up to Cuddy to make the first move in repairing things between the two of them. He was pretty sure that it was actually, in reality, his turn to do something to fix their messed up friendship but since he didn't know what steps to take he'd just leave it up to her. He had dealt with enough and it was time for him to relax.

If only he could.

A little nagging voice just wouldn't let him enjoy the peace he deserved. He bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as he let his head hang down. He was letting something he couldn't put a finger on bug the hell out of him. He drove the knee of his good leg into the wall, the pain race through his body. It momentarily distracted him.

Then he felt someone place a hand on the small of his back and he didn't even have to open his eyes to know who it was. The touch, the smell, it was all familiar to him. He instantly felt his body relax as the hand went from the small of his back to his hip as an arm was wrapped around him. A soft kiss was planted on his cheek.

"Stop beating yourself up," Wilson said in a hushed voice, his lips brushing against House's ear. "You solved the case. Everything will work out for the best now. Like some creepy, fucked-up fairytale."

"I solved the problem with Chase. Then explain why I feel like the other shoe hasn't dropped yet? What's lingering on the horizon to come along and ruin my parade?"

Wilson smiled. "House and parade, not exactly two words one would expect to have a connection."

House turned, pulling Wilson toward him. "I'm serious. Something doesn't feel right. There's this nagging voice in the back of my head that keeps me from thinking straight. I'll be down in the clinic looking at a hot young woman as she complains about this or that and I'll can I think about is the fact that I'm missing something."

"I'd rather you be thinking of me when you're with those hot young women," Wilson remarked. "Do you feel that you missed something in your diagnosis of Chase? Because he's on the mend. I just saw him in the hall with Cameron. Good thing he was in a wheelchair, though, seeing as he was still wearing his hospital gown. The only naked ass I want to see is yours."

House actually smiled despite the trouble he felt was right around the corner. "That's….nice. And no, I'm confident with my diagnosis of Chase. This is something else entirely."

"Maybe you're worried about job security."

"No."

"Maybe you're worried about us…?"

"No. It's not that. I already plan to keep you under lock and key when you aren't working here. And I have spies throughout the hospital to keep any eye on you," House stated.

Wilson actually laughed. "Why doesn't any of that surprise me? No worries, House. I'm not going anywhere. No matter what happens, I'll be right here by your side. You can count on me."


	25. Amongst Friends

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, and slash.

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**Chapter Twenty-Five: Amongst Friends**

"Well, isn't this delightful," House muttered as he stood in the kitchen of his apartment. There were little containers here and there full of yummy looking food. All with notes stuck to them that explicitly said they weren't for eating. Not at that time anyway. House ran a hand over one of the containers, thinking about the fudge brownies that lay inside. Wilson had been busy making food for a venture with the team, something that House thought was stupid. Someone had come up with the idea of them going out on a picnic, or at least having a picnic lunch on the grounds of the hospital. Of course they would all have their beepers so that if a case came in they could be reached. But he still thought the idea was stupid. If he wanted to eat outside he'd do it. It wasn't even a sunny day. The clouds were thick and threatened the city with snow. It bummed him out that he'd be outside instead of in his office where he could at least bounce a ball off the wall or listen to his music.

They'd better not expect him to sit on the ground. Not with his bum leg.

He popped a corner of the lid of the container with the brownies. He could already smell their chocolaty goodness and was tempted to reach in and steal one. Wilson wouldn't notice. He could take one and replace the lid. Maybe rearrange them so that it didn't look like one was missing. He would have gone through with it too, had Wilson not walked into the kitchen at that precise moment. House let his hand fall away, idly searching his pockets for the bottle of Vicodin. Wilson walked over to the counter and started placing the various containers into a small picnic basket. House thought of a million references he could make to Yogi Bear but before he could get one out Wilson turned to him with an outstretched hand, a brownie resting on his palm.

"Go ahead, I know that you want," he said.

"I thought they were for the picnic," House said, wasting no time in taking the delicious chocolate. He bit into it and savored the taste of the fudge.

"They are," Wilson responded. "But you've been a good boy so you can have one." Wilson took hold of the basket and headed for the front door. "Come on, we're going to be late."

"I still think this is a stupid idea," House said, limping after Wilson. "Who wants to eat outside with the bugs and the chance of getting snowed on?"

"You don't have to stay for the whole thing, House," Wilson said. He unlocked one of the backdoors on his car to slip the basket into the backseat. House had wanted to take his motorcycle but it wouldn't have held both of them and the basket of goodies. "It's a time to celebrate our good fortunes. You and I, Chase getting better. I think we deserve this time together. Plus, it'll get us out of the stuffy hospital for a while."

House grumbled under his breath and sat in the passenger seat. He pulled the bottle of Vicodin from his pocket and popped a pill as Wilson climbed behind the wheel. They headed for the hospital, the traffic busier than usual with all the Christmas sales that were being held. Two weeks had passed since House had finally diagnosed Chase and Wilson had come back. In such a short span of time the city had undergone a transformation. Christmas was still at least and month away but you couldn't tell that by the way people were dressing and with all the decorations in store windows. House couldn't recall the last time he had a nice Christmas.

At least he'd warned Cameron about the bowl of candy canes she seemed to always place on the table in their working space.

They arrived at the hospital and walked toward the designated meeting place. Cameron and Chase were already there, with Cuddy, sitting on a checkered blanket that they'd spread over the frozen ground. At least there wasn't any snow on the ground. It had actually been a pretty bland winter with little to no snow throughout the state. Not that it really mattered to House. His job didn't get any busier with the snow.

The joined the small group, House unhappy about the fact that he had to sit on the ground. They'd better not expect him to get up in a hurry. Foreman showed up a few minutes after them and the good times began. At least, that's how it should have been, but House couldn't concentrate. His mind kept wandering and he realized half-way through the meal that he'd missed most of what had been said. When he did join the conversation he found that they were all talking about movies that had recently hit the theatres. He managed to endure fifteen minutes of the topic before his mind was off and wandering again. He usually let his mind wander when there were such boring things going on around him but today he thought about everything and nothing all at the same time. It bothered him; his lack of concentration.

He reached into his pocket for the bottle of pills. The little orange plastic container felt so familiar in his hand. For the third or fourth time that day he popped a pill. His leg was bothering him a lot more than normal but he figured it had something to do with the cold and the fact that he was sitting on the ground. As he replaced the bottle he noticed Wilson giving him an odd look. He tried to think of something to say but was saved by the bell. Well, more like by the beeper. It started with his and before any of them knew they were surrounded by a cacophony of beepers.

"Well there goes all the fun," Cameron remarked.

"Back to work. You guys go ahead. Wilson and I will clean up the mess," Cuddy said, shoeing them toward the hospital. The team headed for the large building. Cameron talking to Chase at a mile a minute. This would be his first case since he'd been cured. As House followed them he realized that he was feeling a bit tired. He really hated the effects that winter had on him. Lately it seemed like all he wanted to do was sleep.


	26. Only He Knows

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer:** Angst, slash, and violence.

**Author Note: I want to thank everyone that reviews my stories. :) You guys are proof that someone is willing to read this stuff that I write. Thank you!**

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**Chapter Twenty-Six: Only He Knows**

House rode the elevator by himself as his team members had made it there before him and gone on ahead. He didn't really care. It gave him some peace and quiet, a chance to think about where his life was headed. So many things had changed in just a matter of weeks. Chase was healthy and he was openly dating Cameron. Neither one of them saw any reason to keep the relationship a secret. They figured it was okay since just about everyone in the hospital was aware of the fact that House was Wilson. And what exactly did that mean? He'd almost walked out of his job because he loved Wilson. When had he last loved someone that much? It troubled him to think that he'd given his heart completely to another person. Last time he did something so foolish things had turned out bad.

The elevator binged and the doors whooshed open. He stepped out, heading down the hallway toward his office. By now he expected his subordinates to be in the strategy room trying to diagnose their new patient. There was one little nagging voice in the back of his mind. It kept asking the same question over and over again; who had decided that this person was going to be his case? That job was usually left to Cuddy but she'd been outside with them, not indoors looking over files. He slowed his walk, his brows furrowing as he frowned. None of this made sense. What the hell was going on? He came to a complete stop. Was this some sort of twisted dream? Since when did they do picnics? Everything about the day was wrong.

He didn't like it in the least. He thought about the feeling he'd had not too long ago; that something horrible was hovering on the horizon. He wasn't one to be afraid of things he didn't understand or couldn't figure out. If he had been, he wouldn't have his job. He stood there, trying to sort out the thoughts in his head as they seemed to be doing laps at an outrageous speed.

"Earth to House," Foreman said, waving a manila folder in front of the doctor's face.

House forced himself to concentrate; a problem he'd never had before. "Case?"

"Surprisingly enough this guy is brave enough to admit that he went to school with you," Foreman started. "That's why he came to see you. He heard about your reputation."

"A walk-in," House stated, starting down the hallway again. "I hate walk-ins. So give me the scoop. What are his symptoms?"

"Aren't you even curious about who it is?" asked Foreman, a questioning look on his face.

House looked back over his shoulder at Foreman who was trailing after him. "Should I care?"

"This person comes out of your past, seeking help from you and you don't even care who they are?" Foreman sounded miffed, like he was hearing something new from his boss.

"If I cared about all the people around me there'd be nobody left to care about me."

Foreman rolled his eyes but House didn't see it. "All right, fine. He's complaining about muscle soreness, having a headache, lower back pain, and-"

"Sounds like normal stuff," House remarked, walking into his office. He sat in the chair behind his desk and flipped on his computer. He thought about playing some music but decided it would be too rude, even for him; if there was such a thing for him.

"What are you doing?" Foreman inquired.

"I have to download the last episode of The OC. I missed it because Wilson wanted-"

Foreman held up the folder, his eyes closed, shaking his head. "Don't finish that sentence. I don't need to know what you and Wilson do behind closed doors. None of my business."

House smirked. He couldn't pass up the chance to pick-on the doctor. "Why? Did you think I was going to say Wilson wanted sex? He wanted to watch the Food Network. I don't understand how people can watch someone cook. Or play golf for that matter."

"House, the patient?" Foreman said, trying to steer the conversation back to the proper topic.

"Run the usual tests and get back to me." He shoed Foreman away with his hand, his eyes on the monitor as he found the website he wanted. He heard the door close as Foreman left, leaving him to the fog of thoughts rolling around in his mind. Was he doing the right thing by giving his heart to Wilson? Would things ever be right between him and Cuddy, and did he really care? And why would someone come back from his past just to have him as a doctor? He was a royal pain in the ass, and he liked it that way. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle of Vicodin and popped one of the little pills into his mouth. His leg was bothering him more than usual and he figured it had something to do with the weather. But he couldn't blame the weather for his leg because he was already using it as an excuse for his being tired.

Not finding what he wanted on the net, having lied to Foreman, he switched off his monitor, propped his legs up on the desk, leaning back in his chair, and closed his eyes. He wanted to catch a few more Z's before anyone really needed him. Not that he planned on anyone needing him. He wasn't much help to Wilson and the others knew how to do their jobs; thought sometimes they gave it too much thought. No, he'd be fine to relax for a while. He was about to drift off when he felt something run down his face. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. And when he looked there was a streak of red across the skin. Blood.


	27. Never Alone

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, slash...maybe something else soon.

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**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Never Alone**

There was a soft knock at the door, so soft in fact that it barely registered to the now semi-unconscious doctor. He turned his head to the side, moaning a few unintelligible words as the door was pushed open. His chest rose and fell with each breath that he took, his mouth slightly open. On silent footsteps, the sound muffled by the carpet, the intruder walked across the office, intent on reaching the desk. They hoped that the doctor would wake up before they got there but it didn't seem as though things were going to play out that way. The doctor mumbled again, this time rubbing a hand over his mouth before falling silent. The intruder stopped, holding their breath, waiting. Nothing happened. The doctor resumed sleeping, oblivious to the world going on around him, lost in the dreams inside his head that played like movies no one else bore witness to. The intruder, once hoping for the doctor to wake decided that instead it was better if the man kept sleeping. They didn't have the heart to disturb the poor man. Quietly, stealth-like, the intruder placed a small object on the desk in a place that it wouldn't easily be noticeable and just as quietly headed back toward the door, floating on a cloud of silence. The door opened and closed with a click, the sleeping doctor going undisturbed.

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House bounced the end of his cane off the floor while he waited for the coffee maker to finish its job. He was dying for a cup of caffeine to keep him going through the rest of the day. For some reason he'd been feeling pretty tired, more tired than usual and he was having trouble staying awake. He wondered for the umpteenth time if maybe he was coming down with something. The weather had been awful as of late with cold temperatures and driving rain. It wouldn't be hard for anyone to catch a chill and get sick. The only problem was that he didn't feel sick, just tired and unable to fully concentrate on the tasks lying before him. Why was he walking around like he was lost in a fog? He continued to bounce his cane on the floor, listening to the coffee maker as it bubbled, the aroma of the dark brew wafting around him. His body may have been in the hospital at that precise moment but his mind was far away.

At the table before him sat his sheep. Foreman was arguing with something Chase had said and the disagreement looked to be getting pretty heated. Cameron was trying her best to get them both to shut up but it was to no avail, the two of them ignored her as they tried to get the other to understand why their diagnosis of the patient was right. House watched them; he saw their lips moving, their eyes betraying the emotions they kept in check. He saw all of it and yet heard none of it. All he heard was his own breathing and the sound of the coffee maker. How was he going to do his job when he couldn't hear what his sheep were saying? He fought the urge to say something to them in case one of them had a reply that would fall on deaf ears. He closed his eyes, hoping that everything would be okay.

In his mind he witnessed them in a moment of complete bliss, actually agreeing on something for once. No arguing as they talked about a patient, no disagreeing with him when he wanted to try something outrageous and maybe a little too extreme. He liked when his sheep were willing to follow him without question, but it was more fun when the squabbled with him and he proved them wrong in the long run. It was a high for him, one that he enjoyed immensely. With his eyes closed, he watched the dream unfold, turning into reality as the lot of them began to fight like children. He smiled and retreated to his office where he sat in his chair and began to slowly spin while humming a tune he didn't know but know all the same. He felt like laughing but held it in check. He just spun and spun and spun, using his cane for momentum.

He felt dizzy and someone was touching him, calling his name. He fought to find the source of the voice and opened his eyes, the harsh light of the sun breaking through the windows making him squint. He had been standing by the white board and was now seated in a chair by the table. The fighting had stopped and Cameron was gone. Chase was the one touching him, a hand on his shoulder, while he tried to get him to respond. Foreman stood off to his other side, an unreadable expression on his face.

He tried to speak and found himself parched. Without having to convey anything a glass of water appeared on the table before him. As he drank it down the world came rushing back to him. The sounds of the bustling hospital, the city outside, the soft whispers of fabrics rubbing together as Foreman and Chase moved. Everything quickly returned to normal with the exception of one minor detail; he couldn't remember what had happened, could not recall even one little detail. None of it made sense to him. Before he could ask either one of his quiet sheep what the hell was going on Cameron came rushing back into the room with Wilson right on her heels.

"What the hell is going on?" he finally said, his voice filled with that usual hint of arrogance. "You guys should be working or do you want the patient to die?"

"But House, you-" Cameron started.

House was quick to interrupt her. "Don't you 'but House' me, missy. Get your pretty little ass into that hospital room and dig up the rest of the dirt on the guy's past. I want to know every single detail of his days before he came here. Get into every nook and cranny."

She frowned, but turned and stormed out of the room, her worry quickly replaced with anger. Chase wasn't far behind her, no doubting planning to catch her and offer a few words of condolences. All House had to do was look at Foreman for the doctor to get the hint and leave. He turned his blue eyes toward Wilson. The oncologist quickly took one of the empty chairs beside him and looked into his eyes.

"Don't you have sick people to be attending to?"

"I don't see another patient for a good twenty minutes," Wilson replied. He took House's left wrist in his hand and began to keep track of House's pulse.

House didn't fight his hold, enjoying the warmth that surged through him when Wilson made contact with him. "What are you doing?"

"Cameron said you just about passed out. She said that one minute the guys were arguing and the next she noticed you swaying on your feet with your eyes closed. They got you into a chair while she came to get me," Wilson explained as he stopped looking at his watch, but left his hand where it was.

"And?" House had yet to take his eyes off of Wilson.

"Your heart is beating a little faster than it should."

"Hm."

Wilson chewed his bottom lip, studying House with his soulful brown eyes, wondering what thoughts were running through the older doctor's mind. He swallowed somewhat nervously as he tried to think of a way to mention the thoughts that were running through _his_ mind. He wanted to bring to the surface his worries, but he risked angering House and he'd made plans for the night that he didn't want to ruin. How could he approach the subject without waking the monster inside?

"Just spit it out, Wilson," House said quietly. He'd spent the last few moments studying Wilson's face and had watched the emotions pass in a swift current in his eyes. He figured that he already knew what his lover wanted to say.

"You didn't by chance….you know…take too many pills again," Wilson was quick to blurt out the last part.

House shrugged. He was rubbing the back of Wilson's hand with his thumb, making small circular motions. "I might have mistakenly taken on too close to the other. My leg is just really sore today. It's ruining my concentration. I'm sorry, Wilson."

The oncologist sighed. "Maybe we should get you a wheelchair for the day."

"Don't you remember what happened last time I cruised around the hospital with a set of wheels?" House asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "Do you really want to live through that again?"

Wilson smiled, the moment of angst having passed. "No, not really but it would be better than you hitting the floor."

"Like when you sawed my cane in half?"

"Hey, you stuck my hand in a cup of water while I was sleeping," protested Wilson, good naturedly.

"I see you got my gift," House said, changing the subject at the drop of a hat. "Do you like it?"

"That's a stupid question," Wilson whispered. He leaned closer to House. "Of course I like it; otherwise I wouldn't be wearing it." He gave House a quick but passionate kiss, feeling the heat all the way to his toes. He pulled away, leaving just enough room between them for him to talk, his lips still lightly brushing against House's. "The only problem," he said in a hushed voice, "is that you don't have one."

House reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the bottle of Vicadin. He grasped the only other object in his pocket and pulled it free. The light caught it and danced off of it. "You underestimate me."

"Never," Wilson said before kissing him again.


	28. Never Knew Lonely

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, slash and language.

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**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Never Knew Lonely**

"I still don't fully understand the situation, explain it to me again?"

Cameron sighed, rolling her eyes. She'd already gone through answering Foreman's initial inquiry and had hoped that the doctor would understand the words that came out of her mouth. He was a doctor for crying out loud. "What part did you not understand, Eric?"

He was quiet for a minute, the frown on his face a clear indicator that he was thinking over what she had already told him. "I think it makes sense but I still don't completely understand it."

"Haven't you ever been in love?" she asked. She was checking a slide under the microscope.

"Yeah…"

She tried not to roll her eyes again. Why had Chase dumped her with the work and with Foreman? She would have rather been poking around the patient's house then trying to get her co-worker to understand why things were the way they were. Over the years she had come to understand that women understood more about love than guys; mostly because women were more romantic than men. Though she had seen her fair share of the romantic men, they grew rarer every day that went by.

"Look, Wilson loves House and vice versa. They don't care who knows, and by now just about everyone working in this hospital does know, so why should they hide how they feel? The rings are basically a statement of how they feel. Let's the world known that they're taken, that their hearts have been given away."

He frowned again, ignoring his portion of the work. At this rate nothing would get done. "But do the rings mean they're married…or?"

"They can't be married in the state of New Jersey," Cameron replied. She changed slides and glanced at the new one. "I think they're more like promise rings. Why don't you ask them instead of me? They'd be able to answer your questions better."

Foreman scoffed. "Yeah, I can see how well that would work out right now. If I asked House I'd get a shit load of wise ass remarks and he'd probably think I was jealous or something. Whereas Wilson, on the other hand, would probably tell me way more than I would ever care to know."

"Then stew in your curiosity. I'd like to get my work done," Cameron stated. And that was the end of the conversation. Though she couldn't help but think, while she worked, that she'd like to find out which one of them gave the first ring. Once she had that information she'd throttle them for making her morning a living hell.

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House stood a few doors down from the room his patient was currently in. The man had been in his care for the last two days and he had yet to even speak to the man; not that that was anything unusual. But the words that Foreman had spoken haunted him, echoing around in his head. The fact that this person was from his past bothered him. Probably because he read the name and couldn't put a face with it. No bells went off in his head. There was nothing. However, this man remembered him and was asking for his help. Why couldn't remember the man? A few minutes ago he'd been talking with Chase. The younger doctor had passed along to him the fact that the patient kept asking after him. Normally when someone asked after him he had no problem going to them, answering whatever questions they had. He just usually did it in a snide way. This was different. He wasn't sure he wanted to see this person, to remember his past. There were things in his life that he'd rather forget instead of reliving in the surge of memories. He was finally in a happy spot and didn't want to ruin his mood. Hadn't he suffered enough dark days?

"What are you doing?" Cuddy asked, stopping beside him. She looked down the hallway to see if she could see what he was looking at. House didn't say anything to her. She could still feel the crack in their friendship, something that she was struggling to repair without jeopardizing her job. "Is this about your patient, House? Whatever fear is holding you back, get over it. Since when do you let small things keep you from being you? Get your ass down there and talk to the man."

House glanced at her before he headed down the hall. He wasn't sure why he was listening to Cuddy. Maybe it was because she was right. It was time he confronted the man, relived whatever parts of his past were coming back, and get it out of the way. It would make his job a whole hell of a lot easier. He pushed open the door and walked into the room. The man in the bed had a shock of red hair and the palest green eyes that House had ever seen. They set off a spark inside him but he still couldn't place the name or the face; it was merely a spark of dull familiarity. The man smiled, trying to hide the pain that he was currently suffering.

A little uncomfortable and unsure of what to say, House found himself saved by the bell when the guy spoke first. "I didn't think you'd ever show up. I kept asking for you. You have a nice team. I especially like the girl. She's got a fiery spirit. Reminds me of someone I knew a long time ago."

"The longer that I'm here, Jacob, the less time I have to figure out what's wrong with you. So make this quick," House lied. Jacob didn't need to know that Cameron and the rest of the sheep did most of the work. House was just the walking encyclopedia, a doctor that pushed the envelope to get the results he wanted.

Jacob smiled. "Still the man I went to school with. You know, I've heard a lot of rumors about your bedside manner and I can honestly say that I believe them. Guess everyone at school was wrong when they said that you'd grow out of it. Some people never change, huh?" House didn't reply so Jacob kept talking. "It's been a long time, Greg. It really is nice to see you again."

House stood by the end of the bed, propping his cane against the footboard. He pulled the familiar bottle out of his pocket and popped a pill. The light in the room glinted off of the solid gray band on his left ring finger. "What's in the past is in the past, Jacob. And that's where it's going to stay."

He didn't wait for the sick man to reply. He grabbed his cane and left the room behind, going as fast as his bum leg would let him. He knew that he was running from something he didn't care to remember but he didn't care. He just wanted to get away, to put distance between his life now and what had happened then. As he turned the corner to head for his office he ran into Wilson, the oncologist dropping the folder he'd been reading. Pieces of paper drifted to the floor. Wilson bent to pick them up while House stood there slightly agitated. He absent-mindedly twisted the ring on his finger. Even seeing the matching band on Wilson's left ring finger didn't chase away the need to run. What was he doing with his life?

"Having a not so pleasant conversation with your patient, I take it?" Wilson asked when all was back in order.

House only grunted.

"You know, I was talking with Cameron earlier this morning and she told me the guy's wife died not too long ago. She doesn't feel all that comfortable around him because she believes he's making passes at her," he said to House. "I tried to tell her that the guy is just lonely. Everybody's been lonely before."

House looked into Wilson's brown eyes, trying to chase away the unwanted memories and focus on what made him happy. He thought about having Wilson's arms around, the sound of his voice as he whispered into his ear, the smell of his shampoo and his aftershave. What would it be like if he lost all of that again? A few weeks had been bad enough. What if he woke up yesterday and Wilson was gone? How would he deal with it?

In a completely un-House like moment he said, "I never knew what it meant to be lonely until I met you."


	29. When I Call Your Name

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, slash and language.

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**Chapter Twenty-nine: When I Call Your Name**

The breeze caressed his skin as one by one the stars came out to play. Night had fallen over New Jersey and House was standing outside his office enjoying the escape. He hadn't been able to think about anything but the patient lying in that bed. He wished the man would go away and never come back. He wished that he had never come at all. There were things in his past that House didn't want to remember, things that he thought were gone. Now here was this person that he'd gone to school with, that he'd….He closed his eyes, forcing the thoughts from his mind. He wanted to think about something besides his past. He knew that the best way to get rid of Jacob was to cure the man. But his symptoms of chills, fever, headache, and muscle pain could have been from any number of diseases. Cameron and Foreman were running tests to narrow it down but that could take days. If only he could give the man some antibiotic and get him on the road again. He knew that it was only a matter of time until secrets from his past began to filter out.

He hoisted himself up so that he was sitting on the little wall, his legs dangling freely. Below him people milled about the parking lot and entrance of the hospital. He watched as Chase left for the day. No one knew it but House was worried about the doctor. After nearly dying Chase had undergone a slight change. He no longer stayed late at work, for one thing, and House wondered if that was because he still didn't feel a hundred percent better. Who was he to blame him though? He hadn't been feeling all that great the last few days. In two days he had gone through an entire bottle of Vicadin. His leg was throbbing something fierce but he was actually afraid to get his prescription refilled. It would prompt Wilson to ask questions, maybe even worry him and that was the last thing House wanted to do.

In the distance he heard the blare of a car horn and wondered if there would be an accident. It was times like these that he was actually happy to work in the clinic, to escape his daily job. It gave him an out and he was going to start using it tomorrow. Let the sheep figure out what was wrong with the guy. He didn't want to set foot in that room again. He didn't want to see Jacob.

"Would you get down from there before you fall?" Wilson said as he came out of his office.

House looked over at him. "The view is amazing from here, much better than being on the other side of the wall."

"Please."

"All right, but only because you asked," House said. He swung his legs back over the wall and planted them firmly on the floor. "Is that better?" He was still leaning back against the wall, taking as much pressure as possible off his leg while trying not to look as though he were in pain.

"Much better," Wilson smiled. He hopped over the small wall between their balconies and stood before House. "So, did you talk with you patient today?"

He tried not to frown. "Yes."

"Foreman says he's someone from your past."

"Foreman has a big mouth."

Wilson actually frowned. "I take it that you don't want to discuss it. Fine. How about we head home? I just have to file a few things, should take no longer than five minutes, and we can be out the door. Sound like a plan to you?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," House said after reading his watch. It was early enough in the evening that they could enjoy some time together before falling into bed and giving themselves over to slumber. He wondered what they would do with those few hours as he limped painfully into his office.

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Outside a car went by, the sound of tires on a slick road from recent rain. Wilson wished that the weather would make up its mind. One minute it was cold and snowing, the next it was cool and raining. Winter either needed to settle in or forget about showing up at all. He yawned, placing a hand over his mouth. Something had awakened him and he wasn't quite sure what it was. After coming home with House they'd spent a few hours enjoying each others company before going to bed earlier, both of them mentioning that they felt tired. And now here he was, wide awake at midnight and not entirely sure why. What had pulled him from the depths of his deep sleep?

And then the answer came to him.

Beside him House muttered something under his breath. Wilson wasn't able to make out the words but he was quick to realize that House was still asleep. Talking in his sleep. He frowned. He couldn't recall any other time that House had done such a thing. Usually the doctor slept surprisingly quiet for someone with a bad leg. He mumbled again, this time twitching a little. Had it been anyone else Wilson might have been slightly amused, but he knew House and he knew that this wasn't normal behavior. It worried him for reasons he couldn't quite place his finger on. House had a semi-violent spasm as he reacted to whatever was going on in the dream he was having. Wilson reached out and placed a hand gently on House's arm.

"Greg, wake up," he said. House continued to mumble incoherently in his dreams. Wilson knew that it was bad to wake a sleep walker, he wondered what the affect would be like to wake someone so incased in a dream. "Greg," he called a bit louder, shook a bit more forcefully. If this kept up he wouldn't get anymore sleep and tomorrow's work would suffer.

House stirred but still did not awaken.

Not wanting to spend who knows how long trying to wake him by calling his name, Wilson bent over his sleeping partner and planted one on him, their lips brushing together in a kiss. Within a few seconds House was pulled from his dream and responding in kind. Wilson pulled away, getting a look of hurt from the doctor.

"Sorry, but you were having a bad dream and no matter how many times I called your name you wouldn't wake up," Wilson explained. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"The dream."

House shook his head.

"Are you sure? You were talking in your sleep, Greg. You don't usually do that."

"Maybe tomorrow," House said before he rolled onto his side, his back to Wilson.

The oncologist sighed, then excused himself as he got up to go to the bathroom. He wasn't in there that long but by the time he came out he realized that House was already sound asleep again. He pulled back the blanket and crawled back into bed, cuddling up close to House, wrapping an arm around his waist. The wonder of House's nightmare was no longer on his mind. It was forced out of the spotlight by what Wilson had seen in the bathroom.

The blood in the sink.


	30. Look At Us

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Language, angst, and slash.

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**Chapter Thirty: Look At Us**

When Wilson next awoke they were sleeping in the exact same position and there was light streaming into the room. It took him a moment to realize that it was the sun shining through the bedroom curtain. He frowned. How late in the day was it? Why hadn't the alarm gone off? He looked at the alarm clock and saw that it was already well past ten in the morning. He'd missed at least two of his appointments. "Shit," he cursed as he threw back the blanket.

His sudden motion roused House. "What…."

"We overslept. It's after ten. Come on, we need to get into work," Wilson said, rifling through a drawer in the dresser for a pair of clothes. He'd forgo showering so that they could head out as quickly as possible. He'd just have to enjoy one when he got home later that evening. He looked back over at House to find the doctor curled up, falling asleep again. "House, get the hell out of bed."

"I don't want to."

"If you get out of bed I'll give you a special treat tonight," Wilson bribed.

At last House looked at him, one eyebrow arched in surprise or question. "A treat? Can't I just have it now?"

"Nope," Wilson smiled even though he was shaking his head. "Get out of bed. Come on, if you want your treat you'll get out of bed and play doctor for a few hours."

"All right, all right, I'm moving," he mumbled, throwing back the covers.

-----------------------------

The minute House walked through the hospital entrance he was bombarded with an update on Jacob's health by the one and only Cameron. And here he'd thought she wasn't going to set foot in the room again, as so said by Wilson. She rattled off the new symptoms; nausea and sore throat. That still left too many diseases on the table and before House could even ask she was quick to say that Chase and Foreman had been running tests all morning. The list of diseases was growing smaller but not quick enough. They either needed to stumble across a pot of good fortune or they needed another symptom, something that could help eliminate a few of the diseases on the table.

Wilson kissed House on the cheek before he took off for the elevators. House, unfortunately, had clinic duty for the day. He made sure to fuss about it on the ride to work when he was secretly happy to be stuck with all the minor issues of whiny people. It got him away from Jacob for the day. And the farther away he was from Jacob the better things would be. The better he would be.

The cases he dealt with were mundane and boring, far below his expertise as a doctor; sunburn, sprained wrists, common colds, a rash, an ear infection. As much as he hated dealing with such minor problems and actually having to converse with a patient he found himself actually happy to be away from his patient, from the man he'd rather forget. He worked through the lunch rush without stopping for anything to eat. Another two hours went by before there was a knock on the door. He was expecting his next patient when instead he found Cuddy. She held out a bottle of Vicadin. He just looked at her. She sighed, took his hand, and placed the bottle on his palm.

"You're in pain and haven't popped a single pill all day. I don't believe for a minute that you're trying to break yourself of the habit. Take these. Wilson won't be able to trace them back to you."

He said nothing and she had nothing more to say so she left. He was surprised by her actions. A bottle of medicine that she loathed seeing him take. The same medicine that she tried over and over again to detox him of. Now she was giving it to him with no questions asked. That instantly put him on guard. He popped the top and inspected the pills. They looked very much like the ones he popped every day. But he was a doctor; he knew that it wouldn't be hard for her to make a placebo look like his usual medication. There was only one way to find out. He took one of the pills. He was placing the bottle in his pocket when his next patient walked through the door. They hadn't even reached the bed before House realized what was wrong with them. He sighed. It was going to be a long day.

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To say that Wilson was upset would have been an understatement. He was miserable. After three follow-ups and one new diagnosis he was free to have lunch; which he took in his office. In his space, free from the chaos of the hospital around him, he was able to finally think about everything that had been going on the last few days. The fatigue, the blood, the pain; it all began to point in one direction and he wasn't happy about what it was pointing at. One of his biggest problems was whether or not to bring up the subject or wait. He never could tell which move would be the best. And for the rest of his afternoon the question plagued him. He consoled a patient when he passed along the news that there was nothing more that could be done; he tried to give a young boy some hope for the future; and he eased the fears of a mother. All in a day's work. And not a single one of them seemed to realize that his mind was somewhere else the entire time. It was all making sense, the pieces falling into place but he still didn't know what to do. Talk or stay quiet?

He sighed. For once in his life he was confused. Sure, he'd been confused about his feelings for House in the beginning but they hadn't taken too long to sort out. This…this was something that could change lives and he didn't want to risk pushing people away or even worse. He chewed his bottom lip as he walked through the halls, searching for House. He couldn't believe…no wait; actually he could believe that House would rather take clinic duty than see a patient. It made him curious about why House was avoiding someone from his past. That thought of dropping in on the guy lasted for only a minute. He didn't want to scare the man, make him think they suspected he had cancer.

He rounded the corner and slowed his pace. House was standing outside his office being questioned by Chase and Cameron. He listened as they asked questions and made guesses at what might be wrong with the patient. He wondered if House already knew the answer, if he was just waiting for them to figure it out for themselves. That was the whole point, after all, to teach them to think outside the box. Wilson tried to hide a yawn as he joined their small party.

"Tired, Wilson?" asked Cameron.

"Didn't sleep that well last night," he confessed.

"I don't want to know why," Chase said.

House rolled his eyes.

Wilson actually cracked a smile. "Do you guys mind if I steal House for a few minutes? I'd like to have a word with him."

"Hey, whatever floats your boat," said Chase. "We've been given a whole new set of orders to undertake."

Cameron stood quietly as she watched Wilson take House's hand and lead the doctor into his office. Once the door was closed she turned to Chase. "Do you think there's something wrong with House?"

"I was just going to ask you if there was something wrong with Wilson."


	31. The Heart Won't Lie

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, slash, and language.

**Author Note: **Do you guys mind that I reply to your reviews?

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**Chapter Thirty-One: The Heart Won't Lie**

"You wanted to talk to me," House stated as he took a seat behind his desk.

Wilson sat in the chair facing him. "Yeah, I do. Look, I know that something has been bothering you and I felt we needed to clear the air between us."

House frowned. "What makes you think that anything is bothering me?"

"You said so yourself not too long ago, or did you forget? We were standing outside shortly after you diagnosed Chase and you said that something was bothering you. When I asked you if it was about Chase you said no. You said the same thing when I asked if it was about us. I was actually willing to let it go but the last few days have left me wondering. You've been tired more than usual, popping way more pain pills than needed, and you've been distracted. What's wrong with you?"

"Aside from the fact that my lover is pestering me?" House shot back with. "I've been tired. Big deal. Maybe I'm coming down with something. Wouldn't surprise me, I'm surrounded by people with scores of germs. It's an all out war in this hospital. And how do you know if the pills are more than I need? Maybe my leg has been hurting more than it usually does."

"Greg, does this have something to do with Jacob Fisher?" Wilson asked. He wasn't sure where the question came from, surprising himself with it. House's patient wasn't really what he wanted to discuss…or was it? Could that be what was bothering him and getting under House's skin? Now that the question was out in the open Wilson realized that Jacob's presence had been bothering him. He didn't know who the man from House's past was and the simple fact that House was more reluctant than usual to speak to one of his patients only made that curiosity worse. Who was Jacob Fisher to House?

"Jealous?"

"Should I be?" Wilson asked. He'd been through enough horrible relationships to last him a life time. He had been hoping that this thing between him and House would last. Now he was wondering if the sturdy ground beneath his feet was about to give out and he was about to have his heart broken again.

"You feel threatened by a sick man in a bed?"

Wilson was growing frustrated. "House, who is he? Why won't you talk to him or talk about him? Why, after all these years, does he still remember you and look you up when he gets sick? Can't you see why I feel threatened by this guy? I don't know what kind of past you have with him."

"The past is in the past, Wilson," House muttered somewhat philosophically. So un-House like. The entire conversation was. Where were the wise ass remarks and the snide comments? "Jacob Fisher didn't mean anything to me then and he doesn't mean anything to me now."

"Don't lie to me…"

"Now you think I'm lying?" House actually looked surprised. "Wilson, what is wrong with you? When have you ever known me not to go for something I wanted? If I wanted Jacob, I'd have Jacob. But he's the last man on earth that I would ever want, especially since I have you."

Wilson sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. "I'm sorry, House. It's just been an awful day and I can't shake this feeling that something about Jacob is wrong, that there's something you haven't told me."

Leaning back in his chair House said, "Jacob is a bad person. He was a bad person in school and I find it highly unlikely that he has changed. He was someone I wanted to stay in my past but he's here now. And if I didn't have this crazy need to solve the puzzle I'd kick him out on his ass. I never wanted to see Jacob again, Wilson. And if you're worried about my leaving you for him, stop worrying."

"It's just….I talk to Cameron and she talks about this guy and all the things that he says. Some of those things are…I don't want to repeat them but it sounds like the two of you have more of a past than you're letting on about. Maybe you have your reasons but…"

"Wilson?"

"Yes?"

"Come here."

He got up, having seen something in House's pale blue eyes, the eyes that he'd come to love. They often made him feel as though he were falling. What would he do without the doctor, without the love that he reserved for when they were alone, a side of himself that so few other people got to see? He stood before House, who stood, pulled Wilson close and placed Wilson's hand on his chest. Wilson felt the beat of his heart.

"You feel that?" House asked.

"Yes."

"That's because of you," House said. "The heart doesn't lie, Wilson. I love you and you alone. Over the years I've done some pretty awful things to you and you always came back. You never gave up on me because you saw something that no one else did. You believed in me. Now…now you sit here in my office questioning my love for you. What do you want me to do? Run up and down the hallways professing my love to you? Do you want me to get up on my desk and dance you a jig? Because Foreman has a better chance of getting Cameron into bed before I do any of that."

"I'm sorry, House. I just…." He let the words die on his lips, deciding instead that he wanted to kiss his lover. And he did, sharing a short but passionate kiss with House. Meanwhile his mind was racing, trying to figure out how things had gotten off track. He didn't want to talk about Jacob. The entire conversation had been a farce. He knew that from the get go. He'd chickened out. Why couldn't he bring up the one thing that really needed discussing? What couldn't he talk to House about the symptoms? Why couldn't he just tell House?


	32. Don't Let Our Love Start Slippin' Away

**Title: **Mending A Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, and slash.

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**Chapter Thirty-Two: Don't Let Our Love Start Slippin' Away**

"Cameron," Chase called, running to catch up with the female doctor. They'd arrived at the hospital together that morning but hadn't had time for one another the rest of the day. House had them running around like crazy performing all kinds of tests on their patient. Though the tests were getting them nowhere Chase had had an interesting conversation with Foreman just a few minutes ago. Aft first he wasn't going to let it bother him but now that he'd stumbled across his girlfriend and she was alone he figured he'd bring it up. The whole thing was probably going to blow up in his face but he had to know the answer. He wanted to put his mind at ease.

She turned to him and flashed him that smile that always made him feel weak in the knees. If anyone in the hospital understood how Wilson could love House, it was Chase. He knew what it was like to see another side of someone, a side that they usually reserved for the people they cared about. He liked to see that hidden part of Cameron and he hoped that she would stay around, that she wouldn't get pissed at him for asking what he needed to ask.

"I had an interesting conversation with Foreman," he stated, as he took her by the elbow and directed her to a small waiting area; the couches free of people.

"And why would I be interested in that?" she asked. She checked her watch.

"He told me that you told him House and Wilson couldn't be married in the state of New Jersey," Chase responded. He wasn't entirely sure why he was doing this but now there was no turning back.

"So?"

He sighed. "Cameron, you know that's a lie. Don't you remember the conversation we had about gay marriage being legal in the state? Why did you lie to Foreman?"

"Perhaps I forgot," she shrugged.

"You forgot?" echoed Chase. "Are you sure it's not because you still have the hots for House even though he's pretty committed to Wilson?"

A dark cloud passed over her beautiful eyes and sent a chill down Chase's spine. He'd pissed her off and now he was going to have to deal with the consequences. He just prayed that they weren't too bad. "You think I'm still hung up on House? I go home with you nearly every night and you have the gull to say I'm still pining after House?"

"I'm sorry, Cameron, but I find it highly unlikely that you just forgot about the marriage rights," Chase pushed. Why couldn't he just shut up?

She checked her watch again. "Excuse me, Chase, I have somewhere that I need to be. As far as I'm concerned this conversation is over."

She didn't wait around for him to answer, just took off down the hallway. Chase watched her go, a sick feeling in his stomach. She _was_ still hung up on House. He saw it in her eyes. What did his boss have that he didn't? A lack of proper beside manner? Was that really a turn-on?

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Wilson closed the door to his office and walked toward the couch that rested against the far wall. He'd just come back from telling one of his patients that he was going to die in a few months, that there was nothing left for them to do. The day didn't seem to be getting any better and he had yet to tell House what was brewing. Why did he have to question House about Jacob Fisher? What did it matter to him? The guy was a piece of House's past and that should have made Wilson okay with it. But the simple fact that House refused to talk about it, even with him, made curiosity bore under his skin and he could no longer ignore it. He chewed over the thought of going to see Jacob himself but what if he ran into House, what excuse would he use for being there?

He turned around and left his office behind. An hour before his next patient; that should give him enough time to have a small conversation with Jacob. Hopefully one that wouldn't get back to House. Upon reaching the room that Jacob was being kept in he studied the guy through the window while Chase checked the guy's vital signs, looking for new clues as to what was making him sick. Wilson felt a burning desire deep in his gut to see the guy gone, and he didn't care if Jacob was cured or not. That simple thought surprised him. He never expected such a thought to cross his mind. What was it about Jacob that made him feel that way?

Without giving himself time to back out he walked into the room. Chase looked up and Wilson noticed that the light in the Aussie's eyes had dulled a bit. Was he getting sick again? "Chase."

"Something you need, Wilson?" Chase asked as he took Jacob's pulse.

"Who is this guy?" Jacob asked.

"Dr. Wilson is an oncologist," Chase replied without giving it much thought.

"Wait, an oncologist? You guys think I might have cancer?"

Chase sighed. But Wilson was the one to speak. "If House suspects cancer he hasn't said anything to me."

"That's because House doesn't suspect cancer. What do you want, Wilson?"

"I was wondering if you'd seen House," he lied. "I wanted to ask him something and he wasn't in his office."

"Nice ring," Jacob interrupted. "Same one that Dr. House wears. Isn't that cute?"

Wilson wasn't sure but he thought heard a patronizing tone in the man's voice. Or was it more of a threat? Something about it sounded off, wrong; making the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. He wished that he'd never entered the room and spoken with Jacob. He once again found himself hoping the guy would be gone soon and not caring how it happened, just as long as he was gone.

"Wilson, can I talk to you outside for a minute?" Chase asked.

"Sure."

Wilson felt Jacob's eyes on his back and it made him shiver. Outside in the hall he turned to Chase and looked into his eyes. "Something on your mind?"

"Yeah, I think you need to keep an eye on Cameron. Something tells me that she's still after House."

"Really? I thought you two…"

"So did I. But I confronted her and she didn't deny it. Just be careful, Wilson."

"Thanks," he replied, watching as Chase turned to head down the hallway. "I think…"

Sighing, he turned to head back to his office. He still had enough time to sit and brood in the dark before his next patient arrived. The day hadn't started out great and looked as though it wasn't going to end any better. The bad vibes from Jacob left him wondering what sort of things he'd done to House back in school. Whatever it was House was not willing to speak about it. He still had yet to tell House what was on his mind; the most important thing of all. And now Chase bringing up the worries over Cameron and her lingering desire to be with House. Outside his office door, his hand on the knob, he heard someone laughing and realized that it was Cameron. He turned to look in the direction it was coming from and his heart momentarily stopped. She was standing beside House, laughing. She was laughing at something House had said, and though he couldn't judge House's reaction it still left him feeling uncomfortable.

He stepped into his office, closing the door and falling onto the couch. An affair. Could that be why House was acting so weird and unfocused? No, House couldn't be having an affair with Cameron. The ring, House had given him a ring. That meant something, didn't it? But when had House ever really given him a gift before? He sighed, trying to chase the thoughts away. He trusted House. He believed in House. The light filtering through the window glittered off the letter opener sitting on the coffee table in front of him. Picking it up he ran a finger along the sharp blade. He thought about all the pain House endured and wondered why the doctor hurt himself to escape that same pain. Then he thought about running the letter opener along his arm to see what it was like. He quickly banished that thought. It wasn't the right thing to do. Talking to House was the right thing. But_ how_ could he talk to House? He didn't know what he could say to keep their lives from falling apart.


	33. I Still Believe In You

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, slash, and language.

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**Chapter Thirty-Three: I Still Believe in You**

House fell asleep on the couch while waiting for Wilson to come home. The hours of the night passed and he grew tired, his eyes closing and his chin resting on his chest. Earlier in the evening he had tried calling Wilson only to get the oncologist's voice mail. When they'd parted ways at the hospital Wilson promised to get a ride from Cuddy who was also staying late for work. House knew at that moment that something was wrong with Wilson and he couldn't help but wonder if maybe it was Jacob. Just the simple thought of Jacob made House shudder. He really hated the man and was dismayed that it was taking so long to diagnose him. The sooner Jacob was out of his life the sooner things could return to normal. He recalled the conversation he'd had with Wilson in his office, how Wilson seemed jealous of Jacob. Why? Jacob was not someone to be jealous of. He was a bully then and most likely a bully now.

Trying to rid his mind of the images of the man from his past, House had started reading random articles in a medical journal that Wilson had left on the coffee table. He drank a cold soda and flipped channels. He picked at his guitar and keyed a few notes on the piano. The hours passed and still there was no Wilson. And now he had fallen asleep on the couch, waiting for his lover to come home. He was so tired, not having slept much the night before. The nightmares were plaguing him again and they kept him fearful of falling asleep. How would the others take that? Would they laugh at the idea of their strong, annoying, and stubborn boss being afraid to fall asleep because of a few bad dreams? Night terrors were awful and just another symptom of…of what?

A key turned in the lock and the door opened, light flooding in from the hallway for a short period. Quietly the door was closed, the lock clicking into place. House continued to sleep as Wilson placed his stuff by the door and discarded his shoes. He walked toward the couch and looked upon the sleeping House thinking of how uncomfortable he must be sleeping in a sitting position on the couch. He entertained the thought of waking him up but then thought better. He'd let House sleep and go into the bedroom alone. Maybe lying in the dark at home would help him sort out the thoughts in his mind. He'd stayed late at work in hopes that shutting himself away in his office would help. Then he tried talking to Cuddy but he couldn't find the words to say what needed to be said. He couldn't say it to anyone. He was worried.

He discarded his clothes and climbed under the covers, placing his hands under his head and staring up at the ceiling. His suspicions had been correct; the test results have been brought to him before his last patient went home. Now that he had the truth and the proof he should have been able to say something, to tell someone what was going on. And yet, he still couldn't find it within himself to bring it up. It wasn't like him to not speak his mind. He was much like House in that way, except when he did it he tried not to be rude or crass.

"Are you lying in my bed naked?" House asked.

Wilson jumped, unaware that the doctor had awakened. He'd made it down the hallway pretty quietly. "Our bed…"

"A naked Wilson lying in bed without me…what's wrong with this picture?"

"You were sleeping, House."

House settled on his side of the bed and began removing his clothes. "And you didn't have the heart to wake me, is that what you're saying?" He didn't wait for a reply. "Why were you so late in getting home?"

"Paperwork," Wilson lied, watching House get undressed.

"You sure it was paperwork and not some slap and tickle with the boss?"

Wilson frowned. "House, I'm lying in your bed naked and you're going to ask me that?"

"Our bed," House corrected as he slid under the covers.

"I had an interesting conversation today," Wilson spoke before he even realized the words were out of his mouth. He wanted to take them back.

"Oh, about what?"

"You and Cameron," Wilson said. "Chase thinks that Cameron is still pining over you. He warned me to be careful."

"Maybe we should show her how much we love each other, give her a demonstration."

"House!"

"There's nothing to worry about on my end," House said. "I have no interest in her. Never really did."

"Are you sure…? I mean, if you want to…"

House looked at him. "This is the second uncomfortable conversation we've had today. Are you trying to tell me something or…?"

"I guess I just feel insecure."

"Wouldn't worry about it. You're stuck with me, limp and all."

"Aren't I the lucky one, then?"

"You bet your snow white ass you are."

"I thought we weren't going to bring that up anymore."

"Ashamed?"

"Too much sun causes skin cancer, House. And it's not like your ass is any better."

"You just keep telling yourself that," House said as he rolled onto his side. "Good night, Wilson."

Wilson rolled onto his side, wrapping his arms around House. "Good night, Greg."

Within minutes House was sleeping again. Leaving Wilson alone with his thoughts. He couldn't help but wonder if House already knew. He'd been nicer than usual and his attempts at being rude just weren't the same. But if House already knew then why didn't he say anything? Couldn't he see that Wilson was drowning, being carried to the bottom with worry? If they both knew, what wasn't one of them talking about it? He closed his eyes, hoping to awake in the morning and have everything be okay. But he knew that everything was far from okay. He finally knew why House was so bothered, what that thing was looming on the horizon. And it made his night restless.


	34. No Future in the Past

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, and slash.

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**Chapter Thirty-four: No Future in the Past**

Why was he standing at the foot of the bed? Why was he watching him sleep when he wanted nothing more than to be somewhere else? What had prompted him to come to this point? He looked around the room at all the gadgets, all the electronic machines that monitored this or that. It was so early in the morning that no one would expect to see him there. That's why he was standing at the foot of the bed. There would be no witnesses. No one to badger him for details that he didn't want to give, details that he would sooner rather forget. He looked at the man in the bed, the one that laying sleeping quietly even though he'd taken a turn for the worse. His skin was deathly pale, his cheeks hollow and gaunt. There were black circles under his eyes. He looked like a cancer patient and that made House wonder if maybe that was what was wrong with Jacob. He would have to ask Wilson for an opinion later in the day. That was, if Wilson ever showed up. He was usually up before House and ready to go when House rolled out of bed. Now the tables had turned and House was the first one gone.

Wilson would be upset, there was little doubt in House's mind about that. But he wanted to shake up the younger doctor. Something was bothering him about Wilson and he hoped that acting indifferent and maybe a touch uncaring would bring it out. He thought of just asking Wilson what was wrong but he figured that most of it had to do with Jacob. Everything had been going smoothly until Jacob showed up.

Even House knew that that was a lie.

He'd been unable to concentrate long before the arrival of someone from his past. He'd had sleepless nights and his leg hurt him more than usual. This was going on before Jacob arrived. But things had gotten worse after his arrival. House noticed a change in Wilson. The way he kept bringing up his doubts about their relationship. When he did that House played along with him knowing all the while that Wilson really wanted to talk about something else. What was it that the oncologist didn't feel he could bring up? Why throw doubt into their relationship? Unless of course he wanted that doubt to be there. Maybe he had found someone else but he didn't know how to let House off easily. Maybe his last act of love would be breaking House's heart as gently as he could.

Whatever it was, it would have to wait until Wilson felt that he could say it. Until then House would go on playing the oncologist's little games.

But at the moment he had more pressing issues to take care of. He smacked his cane against the side of the hospital bed, making a loud bang and scaring Jacob awake. "We have to talk."

"About damn time," Jacob said, his throat dry, his voice somewhat raspy. "I was wondering-"

"Shut up," House said. "I met to say that I need to talk and you need to forget that you even know how to, though at the rate you're going you might actually forget. That's not the point, though. I don't know why you're here, Jacob, but I want you gone. As soon as you're stable enough I'm going to have you transferred to another hospital. I can't have you around. I might do something I'd regret and I never regret anything that I do."

"Still the same ole Gregory House," Jacob said.

"I told you to shut up," House remarked.

"Why?" pushed Jacob. "Afraid of what I might say, is that it? Afraid that I might bring more of your past with me? Are you afraid of what might happen between you and that oncologist? Oh, don't give me that look. I saw the matching rings, House. I'm not an idiot."

"Do you know how much I want to see you gone, Jacob? When I go home at night I dream of smothering you or injecting you with too much of this or that," House told him.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Yes, I would. I wanted you out of my life then and I want you out of it now," House whispered harshly. "You were no good then, Jacob. You were never any good."

Jacob narrowed his eyes. "You're still mad about that car accident, aren't you? After all these years…"

House didn't say anything in reply. He just turned around and headed for the door. He was about to leave when he heard the bed rise up. He turned to look over his shoulder and didn't care for the evil glint in Jacob's eyes. They sent a shudder racing down his spine.

"He's a good looking man, Greg."

"Keep away from him. Or I swear you'll be leaving this hospital permanently confined to a wheelchair," House said with complete calm and a hint of menace.

"Threatening a patient? What would your boss think?"

"To be honest? I don't think she'd care," House replied, before walking out the door.


	35. One More Last Chance

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, slash, language.

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**Chapter Thirty-five: One More Last Chance**

When Cuddy walked into her office she was reading over a file and completely unaware of the visitor sitting behind her desk. Only when she drew nearer did she realize that she wasn't alone and started at the sight of someone waiting for her. Her hand went to her chest, a reaction most people had when someone had just scared them. House didn't say anything and that made her curious and a little worried. He never passed up an opportunity to make fun of someone. She had just given him a prime chance to poke fun at her and he said nothing, his eyes unfocused.

"Why are you sitting behind my desk?" she asked, flipping the file closed.

"I was trying to snoop but your desk is locked."

"Like that has ever stopped you," she rolled her eyes.

"You hid the letter opener," House remarked.

"What do you want? Are you here to ask for my okay on some crazy test you wanted to run on your patient?"

"No," he said. "I wanted to ask you if you could get rid of him."

"Excuse me?" That had been the last thing she'd expected to hear. Was House admitting defeat or did it have something to do with the fact that Jacob was in House's past?

"Transfer him to another hospital. Give him another doctor while he's here. I really don't care what you do with him, I want him gone."

Cuddy chewed her bottom lip, but kept her back straight. House was known for making outrageous requests and she was used to fighting him for the sheer fact of trying to stay in charge. She usually didn't care what he did because she trusted his judgment. But this time her hands were tied. She knew that if word got back to the board there would be problems for House. The members were looking for any excuse to send House packing. Refusing to treat a patient would be the best excuse. "I can't do that."

"You can, you just don't want to."

"No, House, I can't do it. If I told the board members that you were refusing to treat a patient your ass would be out of job. Don't you understand? They're still upset over the whole Wilson episode," she told him, finally relenting and taking a seat in one of the chairs on the wrong side of her desk. Why bother asking House to move? "Why not just have your team treat him while you bounce balls off the wall or whatever else you do while sitting in your office?"

"I've tried that," House said, standing up. He walked toward the door. "Jacob needs to go, Cuddy. He's causing problems. I want him gone. I'm giving you a chance to get rid of him."

"House," she called after him, but it was pointless as he was already walking toward the clinic. She sighed and remained where she was sitting. How was she going to help House without getting him fired? And what did he mean by Jacob was causing problems?

-------------------------------------

"You know, for someone who thinks he's coming down with something this is a strange place to find you," Wilson said as he settled on the bench beside House. He'd been searching the hospital for the last half hour, checking all the places that House liked to use when he wanted to avoid work. Outside on a bench was the last place he expected to find the doctor. The temperature had dropped and the thick layer of clouds was finally threatening them with some heavy winter snow. And here House sat with no jacket or hat. Wilson shivered as a wind whipped up.

"I needed to get away," House said.

Wilson looked toward the parking lot to see if he could see whatever it was that House was staring intently at. "Let's go inside. It's getting cold out here."

"I don't want to go inside. It's hot inside."

Wilson frowned. "It's not hot…" On a whim he reached over to take House's hand, twining their fingers. He jerked his hand away in surprise. "Damn, House, you're burning up."

"I am not," the diagnostician denied.

"Come on, let's get you inside. You shouldn't be out here. You've probably got a nasty fever."

"I'm fine. Leave me alone."

Sighing Wilson stood. "Fine. Stay out here. See if I fucking care. When you feel like being a human and can find it within yourself to give a shit, you'll know where to find me. I'm not playing the games anymore, House." Wilson knew that he might have sounded a touch angrier than he wanted to but he was tired of House's indifference. Something was on the older doctor's mind and he felt shafted that House wouldn't share with him. He went inside and locked himself away in his office, lying on his couch, wondering if this was the beginning of the end.


	36. I Can't Tell You Why

**Title:** Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, slash, and language.

**Note: **I may be updating Monday and Friday again soon. Recently got one of my stories done and close to finishing another one. Once that's off my desk...I'll be free to work on this story as much as I like so that means more updating.

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**Chapter Thirty-six: I Can't Tell You Why**

"Have you noticed something different about House and Wilson?" Cuddy asked as she fell into step beside Chase.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, these last two days….it might just be me but it looks like their avoiding each other," she said, happy to finally be voicing her concerns to someone. "I haven't seen them talking or…"

"Lover's quarrel," Chase said. "All I know is that House did something to upset Wilson. Probably something to do with the fact that House is sick and I think Wilson has a secret. You know what, why don't you talk to them about this?" he asked her. "Cameron, Foreman, and I are busy trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with this Jacob-fellow without any input from everyone's favorite doctor."

Cuddy sighed. She watched as Chase walked away, wondering if there was any way that she could fix what was wrong between House and Wilson. If the two of them ended up breaking up then things would get really uncomfortable in the hospital and it would fall on her head because she fought for the two of them. As a friend she had a right to be concerned but did she really need to butt in? Last time she tried to help out things didn't exactly go so well. And she still felt that the friendship between here and House was strained. That meant talking to Wilson first. She checked her watch. Now would be the perfect time to catch him as he would be between patients. She headed for his office and knocked softly on the door before entering. Wilson was lying on the couch with an arm over his eyes and the lights off. She stopped in her tracks, afraid that she might have caught him sleeping.

"Don't you dare just turn around and walk away. What do you want?" Wilson asked. He let his arm slide away from his face and looked at her but made no attempt to get up off the couch.

"I wanted to talk to you about House. I know that it's not really my place but the two of you-"

"Aren't talking? Is that what you're here for?"

"Yes," she replied sheepishly. "I can't have the two of you arguing. One or even the both of you, risk losing your job. I mean the board…"

Wilson gestured with a hand. "No point in mentioning that to me. I'd be more than happy to talk with House. He's the one that's the problem. I can't get him to talk about his past and I'd be willing to let it slide but whatever happened with Jacob all those years ago is bothering him. He's not the same person. He's turned himself off."

"Sounds like the two of you need to be locked in a room and left to talk it out," Cuddy suggested.

"It probably wouldn't hurt."

She smiled. "How about his office? The two of you could be locked in there…"

Wilson looked at her.

"He has his blinds closed. We could lock the doors to the conference room. That would leave only one entrance and exit, which you could stand in front of. What do you say?"

"It's worth a try," Wilson agreed.

---------------------------------------------------

House was sitting at his desk, his legs propped up on his desk, his can resting against the side of it. He popped a Vicadin and chased it down with a shot of cold medicine. He'd been fighting a damn cold for the last few days. But he was happy to have it because he found himself less distracted. He was able to focus on things once again. And right now he was waiting to hear back from one of his little sheep on how the test went. He'd looked over the recent list of complaints from Jacob and picked out the most likely disease. It wasn't some medical mystery and any other doctor would have been able to figure it out if they looked in the right direction. Jacob had West Nile Virus. The symptoms were all there; fever, headache, muscle aches, abdominal pain, and nausea. All signs of the mosquito-born disease. He sent Cameron to check Jacob for any mosquito bites that might have turned into rashes while Chase did the test. He made a mental note to have a talk with Chase and see how the doctor was feeling. He felt the strange need to touch base with Chase and he wondered if it had something to do with the mixture of medication.

Wilson walked into his office without knocking and House gave him a questioning look. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Last time I recall talking to you-"

"Shut up, Greg," Wilson said. "We're going to talk. And I mean that. About everything."

"I have a patient-"

"That you could care less about," he snapped. "There is something going on here and I want to get it out in the open before I allow myself to fall anymore in love with you."

"Why are you so hung up on Jacob?"

"Because you haven't been the same since he walked into this hospital," Wilson said as he walked closer to the desk. "And I know that being sick can cause minor changes but…" he trailed off. "You're mixing pain medication and cough syrup? House…" He fell into one of the chairs.

House looked at him. "If I tell you about Jacob, will you come home with me tonight?"

"Yes," Wilson said. He was going to go home with House anyway. Sleeping on the couch in his office was making his back sore. However, he saw no reason to share that piece of information with House.

"Fine. We weren't friends. We were never friends," House recalled. "That was why I declined to join him that day he invited me along for a ride in his car. We'd been enemies for as long as I could remember and it could have been seen as a gesture to right the wrongs. But I couldn't get past some of the things he'd done so I said no." House closed his eyes as he went back in time to relive events that he wanted to forget. "I remember being in my room that night when my mom came to talk to me. The phone had rung a short while before and I didn't really think much of it. But I knew that something was wrong when she sat on my bed. There were tears in her eyes. My best friend got in Jacob's car. There was an accident and Jacob was the only one to walk away."

"I'm sorry, Greg," Wilson said, finding that he didn't feel any better now that he had the truth. Well, part of the truth. He knew House well enough to know that there was more to the story but he no longer felt like pushing for the truth. The story House had shared with him was more than he'd had to begin with and he could be happy with that.

House opened his eyes, studying his lover, wondering if Wilson was going to push him for more information. No matter how much the oncologist pushed he wasn't going to get the whole story.

"Thank you," Wilson said. "Thank you for finally telling me."

"Your sick," House said, catching Wilson off-guard.

"Excuse me?"

"Your skin is pale. Your eyes are tired and you've lost weight. You're sick," House said.

Wilson blinked. "I…" He massaged the back of his neck and his eyes refused to meet House's.

House twisted the ring on his finger as he realized what was happening. He closed his eyes and exhaled, trying to make sense of the unspoken words between them. How could he have been so stupid, so blind as to not notice it sooner? He felt like kicking himself; instead he got up and walked around his desk, falling into the chair beside Wilson.


	37. I Will Always Love You

**Title:** Mending A Broken Man

**Disclaimer:** Angst, language, and slash.

**Author Note: **_Just wanted to thank all the **reviewers** that take the time to leave a review my story. You guys totally rock! (Sorry...not much a fan of ghost readers...)_

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**Chapter Thirty-seven: I Will Always Love You**

House inhaled deeply the aroma of Wilson. The two of them were laying in bed wrapped up in each other. He had always heard that make-up sex was the best and now he could attest to it; though he knew they'd never broken up. It had been a minor disagreement between lovers. Now, covered in a thin layer of sweat, he closed his eyes and listened to the beat of their hearts. With his eyes closed the other senses took him on a ride. He felt every place that Wilson was touching him. He felt the band of metal around his finger. For the first time in months he felt content and he knew that it was wrong. The day had presented him with a big change, something that wasn't for the best and he had no right to feel good. The bed shifted as Wilson moved beside him. House opened his eyes to see his lover sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Something wrong?"

"We haven't even talked about it," Wilson said.

"Maybe I don't want to talk about it," House stated.

Wilson looked back over his shoulder. "Maybe not now, but eventually we're going to have to talk about it."

"I just don't understand…"

"It happens."

"Do you want to tell the others?"

Wilson shook his head. "Not yet. I….you could say that I'm still trying to process. And I would rather not tell them until you and I have spoken about it."

House turned his gaze toward the ceiling, wondering how many times the blank whiteness had tried to offer him comfort to no avail. He sighed. Where was his life going? He thought back over the months to when it all began. All the way back to when Cuddy forced him to detox and he'd nearly killed himself with an overdose of morphine. It was a painful part of his past but without it he never would have gotten together with Wilson. Those awful, painful events led them to each other. Then life got good again but it never lasted. They tried to take his Wilson away and he'd find himself spiraling into the darkness once again. The pattern repeated itself; a few weeks of happiness and then the other shoe dropped. Where was he going to go now? What lay around the next turn? Did he even really want to know?

"How long?"

Wilson looked back over his shoulder. "How long?" he echoed.

"Before…"

"Forever," Wilson said. He slipped back under the covers. "We'll have forever together. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Wilson," said House, wrapping an arm around his lover as the other man snuggled against him.

"I'm not," he lied, resting his head on House's chest.

House ran his fingers up and down Wilson's back. "I don't know what to do….or what to say."

"That's because you care and you're not used to caring."

"Oh funny, pick on the crippled," House scoffed. Wilson laughed and House realized how much he would miss that sound. He was going to miss a lot of things about Wilson. One of them being the fact that it was so easy to piss him off. He smiled as he remembered that day he dosed the oncologist with uppers. Or the time that he was going to let Wilson make a fool of himself by asking out Cuddy. Of course, that hadn't turned out the way he expected since Cuddy accepted the invitation and they had a great night; according to Wilson. He frowned. Maybe it wasn't Cameron that they needed to worry about. Maybe it was Cuddy. Maybe…

"Have you noticed anything odd about Chase's behavior lately?"

By now Wilson was used to House's knack for changing topics with no warning whatsoever. "Not really, why? Are you still worried about him?"

"He never stays late at the hospital anymore."

"Neither do you."

"That's because I have you to drag me out of my office," House said, wondering how much longer that would happen. How long before…

"I'm tired," Wilson said, his voice softer.

"Then go to sleep."

They were snuggling together, getting ready to drift off when House's cell phone began to ring. He reached over to the nightstand and flipped it open when he saw that it was Foreman. He listened intently as the young doctor relayed a message to him about his patient. They tests had finally come back. Cameron had been unable to find any rashes and the tests were negative for West Nile. House closed his eyes. He hated to hear that he'd been wrong. Foreman then went on to list two more symptoms that the patient had developed in the last hour; chills and discomfort. More common symptoms. At the rate things were going Jacob would die before they'd diagnose him. Hell, for all they knew he had a routine cold. He was about to tell Foreman to keep an eye on Jacob and hang up when he heard Cameron speaking in the background. It sounded like she was getting hysterical but he was unable to make out what she was saying. A few minutes passed before Foreman was able to say anything more to House. There was trouble brewing in paradise and the patient had a new symptom; confusion.

House told Foreman that he'd be right there; he just had to free himself from Wilson. From the way the other doctor hung up House had to assume that he'd said something to upset him. Wilson was still lying with his head on his chest, sound asleep. House hated to just up and leave but things were falling apart at the hospital and if anyone would understand, it would be Wilson. He managed to free himself and got dressed. Before closing the bedroom door he looked back at the bed wondering how much longer he'd have before it was just him again. He felt useless, knowing that there was nothing he could do for Wilson. Softly he closed the door and headed out into the night to save the life of a man he hated.


	38. Say Hello

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, slash and language.

**Author Note: Um...SpencerBrown pointed something out to me that I totally forgot about. Oops. Thank you! You not only reminded me about something I wrote but you cleared the writer's block I was having on this story. However...what I'm talking about won't be finalized until chapter 50...sorry...**

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**Chapter Thirty-eight: Say Hello**

House strolled into the nearly vacant hospital. The place was always less noisy during the evening hours then it was during the day. He often thought of switching his hours around and working through the night. The only thing that kept him from doing that was the loss of all those people he could piss off during the day. And now he had Wilson to think about. He still wasn't quite used to thinking of people aside from himself. This whole caring for another person was something he'd tried before and it had backfired on him. Yet here he was putting his heart on the line again only to find that it was going to be broken in the long run. It never worked out for him. That's why he hated to let his emotions get in the way. He was better off not caring for anyone but himself. As the thoughts crossed his mind he stepped into the elevator shaking his head. Not caring for anyone but himself and here he was at the hospital in the middle of the night because other people needed him. The only person he wanted to need him was back at his place sleeping.

Cameron was waiting for him when he stepped off the elevator. At first she didn't notice him as she paced back and forth. He had never seen her act like this, all freaked out. The words that Wilson had spoken came rushing back to him. Was she doing this to make him feel guilty or something? The only thing he felt guilty about was leaving Wilson home alone. He should have been there. His lover needed him. She finally looked at him with red-rimmed eyes; she'd been crying again. House didn't care to deal with women when they got all teary-eyed; it made him uncomfortable.

"Those tears can't possibly be for Jacob. He doesn't deserve them."

"Chase is on the roof," she said.

"Why?"

She shrugged. "I've been trying to get him to come back in but he won't budge. Maybe you can talk some sense into him. Please, House. You may not know but he respects you."

He closed his eyes. He'd been worried about the young Aussie the last few weeks, believing that something was wrong and now it looked like all his suspicions were right on base. "All right, but you need to keep an eye on the patient. Perhaps you should run more tests, see if he can even remember what day it is."

As he headed for the roof he couldn't help but wish for Wilson to be by his side. Wilson had always been the more sensible one. With House's luck he would send Chase over the edge of the building instead of convincing him to come back in. He was good at talking people into risky tests and conveying that without the extreme measures they might die. But he'd never really tried to talk someone out of killing themselves. Of course, he was assuming that's why the Aussie doctor was on the roof. For all he knew Chase could have been star gazing and decided to ignore Cameron.

He walked out onto the roof and spotted the Aussie leaning against the ledge, gazing down at the world below. House thanked his lucky stars that he never let something like a fear of heights get in his way. He limped across the roof and stopped beside his younger colleague. Resting his cane against the low brick wall he bent forward, resting his elbows on the bricks. For a while neither one of them said anything. House wasn't sure what he was supposed to say and whatever was bothering the younger doctor, he didn't feel like sharing. They stood there in the quiet, each consumed by their own thoughts as it began to snow, the little flakes floating around them. A shiver ran down House's spine.

"Are you aware that Cameron is downstairs freaking out because you're up here…"

"And instead of being up here it's you," Chase said, not looking at House. "Isn't it wonderful how that works out?"

"This is the last place I want to be, Chase," remarked House. "I should be home with Wilson. But I have a doctor on the verge of whoknowswhat, another doctor that's hysterical and a patient that isn't getting better."

"Leave me alone, House."

House grabbed his cane. "As you wish. I have work to be doing anyway." He started for the door that would lead him back into the depths of the hospital.

"You're actually just going to leave?" Chase called after him.

He stopped but didn't turn around. "If you want to jump off of the roof, I'm not going to stop you. I won't be scrapping you off the ground either. We all make our own choices, Chase." He limped to the door and opened it. Then he looked over his shoulder. Chase was still leaning over the edge, only now his eyes were looking skyward instead of at the ground floors below.

Back in his office, House had enough time to fall into his chair before Cameron and Foreman came walking through the door. Before Cameron could say anything Foreman started in about the patient and how the tests kept returning negatives for West Nile. House chewed over the symptoms and watched as the puzzle pieces fell into place. Why hadn't he seen it before? It was all right there before him and he still missed it, wasting valuable time on things that weren't relevant. Much the way things had worked out with Wilson. Had House picked up on the changes earlier maybe…

"What does West Nile do?" House asked. They fell quiet, unsure if they were really meant to answer that question. "Most of the population won't even realize they have the disease because the symptoms will be minor and even non-existent. But then you have the few that catch what doctors are calling West Nile Fever; something that can mimic the flu. The worst case scenario is West Nile Encephalitis. And what diseases does that mimic?"

"Aseptic Meningitis," the two of them said at the same time.

"Start treatment for the meningitis and I bet there will be improvement in the patient's health," House ordered, shooing them out the door.

"But what about Chase?" Cameron asked as Foreman headed down the hall.

"He's your problem," House replied. "You have him wrapped around your finger. You do something about it. I have enough on my mind as it is."


	39. Under These Conditions

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, slash, and language.

* * *

**  
Chapter Thirty-nine: Under These Conditions**

House couldn't stay at the hospital one more minute. The constant stream of sick people made him think of Wilson. Add to that the fact that Wilson had called in sick for the day; House's mood had quickly gone south. He should have been happy to hear that the diagnosis of Aseptic Meningitis was correct and that Jacob was already showing signs of improvement. But he couldn't get the thoughts of Wilson out of his mind. He kept thinking that maybe he should forget about work for the day and head back home. It wasn't like anyone needed him for his job. The only patient he had was one that he could care less about. He thought of sticking around until lunch but he really saw no point in the matter. Grabbing his cane he headed for Cuddy's office to let her know that he'd be gone. If anyone wanted them they could reach him on his cell or at home.

He walked into her office without any warning and interrupted her phone conversation; a conversation that she quickly ended. That only made House curious. Usually she had no problems with him hearing her end of a conversation. He'd just make rude remarks and off-handed jokes while she glared at him. Why the sudden change of heart? He stopped before her desk with his cane planted in front of him, both hands resting atop it.

"Who were you talking to?"

"Nobody important," she replied. "What do you want, House? And don't tell me that you want to try some crazy experimental treatment on your patient because I've already gotten word from Foreman that he's improving."

"I'm going home."

She looked up from the paper on her desk. "Home?"

"You know, that place where I keep my bed." He tried to get a look at what she was reading, thinking that it might have something to do with the phone conversation.

Obviously having caught him trying to snoop, she leaned forward on her desk, her elbows obscuring his view of the paper. "Why are you going home? Does it have something to do with Wilson calling in sick?"

"There's nothing to do here."

"Clinic duty."

"And miss daytime TV?"

"You always miss daytime TV," she grumbled.

He turned and headed for the door. "If anyone needs me they can find me at home."

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Wilson was sleeping on the couch when House arrived home. He managed to sneak into the apartment and down the hall to their bedroom. He sat heavily on the bed wondering what the future held for him. He hated to admit it but a part of him had been hoping that Wilson would be up and about when he got home; that there would be a smile on the oncologist's face and a twinkle in his eye. Instead he looked sicker than the day before. Neither one of them had really taken the time to talk about what exactly was wrong with him. It was his fault for brushing off all the attempts that Wilson had been making. He felt like such a heel. And then he felt like going back to work to escape the sickness and the depression that was slowly returning to his life. Would it ever leave him alone?

He lay back on the bed, his mind thinking about the tiny object hidden away in the drawer of his nightstand. The scalpel had been his crutch a few months ago, back before he'd had Wilson to hold him up. The thought of running the sharp object over his arm, breaking the skin and seeing the blood sent a wave of sensation through his body. He knew what caused that sensation was the chemical release into his body. Actually hurting himself would be better. But he couldn't do it. Not now. Going back to the old habits would only make matters worse for Wilson, and as far as he was concerned Wilson already had enough on his plate.

Instead, he glared at the ceiling and wished that for once it would give him the answers that he longed to have. Why couldn't his life ever take a turn down a smooth and straight road? He was tired of all the bumps and the twists along the way. He needed somebody to talk to but in times that mirrored these he would always talk to Wilson. How could he talk to Wilson about what was really bothering him without making things worse? He sighed. He reached over toward the nightstand and pulled open the drawer. The light from coming through the window reflected off the blade of the scalpel inside. Something in his pocket vibrated. He pulled out his cell phone and looked at the number. It was Chase.

"What?" he said, not even bothering to try covering up the annoyance in his voice.

"Your patient is asking to speak with you," the Aussie said.

House was puzzled because he didn't hear the noise of the hospital in the background. "If he isn't experiencing any new symptoms, forget about it. Tell him I'm otherwise occupied."

"House-"

"There aren't any new symptoms, are there?" he asked quickly, thinking how he'd almost been home free. Of course something was going to go wrong with Jacob's treatment. That's how his life worked.

"No, there are no symptoms that I'm aware of," replied Chase.

"Then tell him to leave me alone."

For a minute Chase was quiet and House checked his phone to make sure that the other doctor hadn't just hung up. When the Aussie next spoke he sounded guarded. "That wasn't the patient I was talking about."

House gave the wall in front of him a quizzical look. "I don't have any other pat…" The word died on his lips as a light in his head was flipped on. "Where do you want to talk?"


	40. What if I Say Goodbye

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, slash and language.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Forty: What If I Say Goodbye**

House sat in the dark bar waiting for Chase to show up. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to arrive before his little Aussie sheep but he'd taken a booth and had stretched his bum leg out on the seat, his back resting against the wood paneling of the wall. He looked around at the other patrons. Some of them sat at the bar nursing drinks that looked like they had long since gone warm while others sat at tables scattered around the floor. A group of businessmen were having a heated discussion while a college student tried to study. House couldn't follow the logic of Chase choosing this place to meet in. He could see the diseases climbing up the walls and along the floor. He would have to make sure he showered when he got home. Whenever he got home. He chewed his bottom lip hoping that Wilson would not wake-up before he got home. He was hoping they could finally talk about the unspoken problem, the thing neither one of them really wanted to believe was happening.

The door opened, letting the light of a streetlamp pour in, and Chase was walking toward him before he realized it. The Aussie looked like he'd just left work, his messenger bag still over one shoulder. Once he got closer House could smell the familiar scents of the hospital on him; the medicine, the cleaning products. It made him wonder how he smelled when he left the big brick building behind. Chase settled across from him and within a second a waitress came to take their order. House refused to order anything since he had to drive home and he knew what could happen if he chose to drink and drive. Chase ordered a soda. He didn't speak until the waitress was gone.

"I don't mean to bother you, House," he started.

"Make this quick," House stated. "I need to get home. There are things…"

Chase looked nervously at the door. "Something's not right, House. I don't feel like myself anymore. I…it's hard to explain. But working at the hospital and seeing all the people…"

House jumped in, not wanting to wait for Chase to gather his thoughts. "You've been there and now you have a different perspective. That's your problem. You see people all around you dying and there's this little voice in your head trying to figure out why you lived while they didn't. It goes away, just ask Foreman."

"Are you sure I'm cured?" asked Chase, the worry evident in his blue eyes.

"There can be long term affects of the disease but I wouldn't worry about it," remarked House. He caught the look on Chase's face, the emotion that passed quickly over his features. "However, if you want to get tested, I'd suggest having your heart checked out. That's the organ to watch after having Q Fever. It's the only one affected long term."

"But you're convinced nothing is wrong with me?"

"I wouldn't go that far, for starters, that accent…"

"House."

"We caught the disease, Chase. It was treated. I think you're worried about your relationship with Cameron and instead of dealing with that you're trying to come up some excuse to push her away," he said as he got up. "Do whatever you feel you have to do but I'm going home, Chase. There are other things that need dealing with."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Wilson was sitting at the foot of the bed when House arrived home. He didn't like the look on the oncologist's features and he stopped in the doorway, looking around the room. Then he noticed that the nightstand drawer was still opened. He'd left it like that when he went to talk with Chase. He wanted to walk across the room and close it as though it didn't matter but a little voice in the back of his head told him that it was already too late. So he tried to ignore it.

"Sorry, I was home earlier but I had to go have a talk with Chase," he said, heading for the bathroom. He left the door open. "He thinks he might still be suffering from the Q Fever. I told him that I think he's trying to avoid getting serious with Cameron. What do you think?"

When he walked back into the bedroom he noticed that Wilson hadn't moved. He was still sitting at the foot of the bed. But this time House noticed that there was something clenched in his hand.

"Wilson…"

Those brown eyes that always made him feel special gazed into his and the pieces began to fall into place. He settled on the bed beside Wilson, bouncing his cane off the floor, trying to think of something to say. Nothing came to mind. What could he say to put aside the fears that remained unspoken between them?

Wilson opened his hand and the light glittered off the blade of the scalpel. "Why? I mean, were you going to use it?"

"I won't lie," House said. "I thought about it."

"I don't understand," Wilson shook his head.

House was silent for a few minutes while he collected his thoughts. Then he spoke. "There's this voice inside of me that keeps saying I'm going to lose you and…I don't want to deal with that."

"But what if I do have to say goodbye, Greg?"

"Don't," House said, looking into Wilson's eyes once again. "Please…don't…I thought you caught it in time."

"Life is unpredictable."

"Wilson…"

The oncologist laid his head on House's shoulder and took hold of House's left hand, entwining their fingers. "I'm so tired, House. I'm just so tired."


	41. The Way Back Home

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, slash and language.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-one: The Way Back Home**

"Are you sure that you want to go through with this?" Wilson asked as he took a seat in one of the chairs.

"Someone has to deflect the questions from the others and you'll be tired," House replied. "Plus, it gives me time to play." He held up his little black Playstation Portable.

Wilson rolled his eyes but he was smiling. "I think I'm only going to do it this way one time. After this I might check into shots or pills. I can't sit here for hours with nothing to do but watch you play games."

"You could always play," offered House.

"And take away your fun?"

House smiled, knowing that he was able to keep his nervousness and trepidation from showing. He slipped the intravenous needle into Wilson's arm and sat in one of the empty chairs. He didn't expect anyone to come looking for him. His only patient was being checked out of the hospital today and if someone knew showed up he had his cell phone. Cuddy didn't even know where he was. Of course, he knew that it was only a matter of time before one of them figured it out and they came up to ask questions. That's the way that they were. He half hoped that some new case would pop up, at least that would keep them occupied and maybe this whole thing would pass under their radar. He glanced over at Wilson who was staring at the ceiling. What would he do if that chair was empty, if Wilson wasn't there anymore? He didn't even want to think about it. He'd had a hard enough time dealing with Wilson being in another state. What if…

His game sounded that his character had died, drawing his attention back to the little device. He had brought the game along to keep his mind occupied, so that he didn't have to think about Wilson and what was happening right next to him. He started the game anew and lost himself in the play, escaping the hospital. He was half-way through a particularly hard level when his leg began to bother him. At first the pain was low key, a minor throb. But it gradually grew into something more and he found himself gritting his teeth to keep from showing pain. He reached the end of his level and managed to save. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the bottle of Vicadin and popped off the lid. When he dumped the bottle sideways all he got was one pill. He would have to refill his prescription yet again. Maybe his lover had been right about him popping too many pills lately. He looked over at Wilson to find the oncologist sleeping. He thought of getting up and trekking to the nearest pharmacy but that meant leaving Wilson. What if he woke up?

Help arrived in the form of Cuddy.

She looked at Wilson, her eyes going wide in surprise. House was quick to get up and direct her away from the area. He didn't want their talking to wake up Wilson. The oncologist had enough to deal with. They stood before a big window at the end of a hall, the sun streaming through the glass across the tiled floor.

"What is going on?" Cuddy asked, her voice hushed even though they were a good distance away from Wilson.

"We're having a party."

"House…" She looked back at Wilson. "Believe it or not I am in charge of this hospital. I have a right to know when something is wrong with one of my doctors. What is going on?"

"I can't tell you," he replied. "That's for Wilson to do since he's the one…"

"Are you telling me that you want me to wake up a sick man?"

House looked out the window. "You make it sound like it's so hard."

"How are you doing?" she asked, her question surprising him.

He watched the people below as they came and went, wondering how bad their lives were. He looked down at a tree, the same tree that Wilson had kissed him under when it was raining. Had he known then that something was wrong? He closed his eyes, sighing and relaxing his shoulders. "This…I never expected anything like this."

"I don't think anybody does," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. She reached into the pocket of her white coat and pulled out a bottle. She took his hand and dropped it on his palm. "I figured you were going to need these. Judging by the way you've been refilling…"

"For someone that tried to break me of this habit, you've become quite the enabler."

"Sue me," she said.

"Don't offer," he replied. He looked back toward Wilson in time to see Cameron stumble into the area. The color drained from her face and her mouth dropped open. She dropped the file she'd been holding, papers scattering along the floor. House tapped his cane on the floor to draw her attention. When she turned to look at him he beckoned her over. She left the file where it was and hastily joined their little group.

"Wilson is sick?"

"Keen eye for the obvious," remarked House.

"Would the three of you stop talking about me like I'm not sitting here," Wilson said, having woken up. He looked at them with tired eyes.

House slipped the bottle of medication into his pocket and checked his watch. Then he headed over to Wilson, a small smile on his lips. "Your time is up. Let's get this damned thing out of your arm." He was pulling the IV needle out of Wilson's arm when Chase and Foreman arrived, the two of them arguing whether or not Cameron had come this way. They both stopped when they saw Wilson sitting in the chair.

Wilson tried to suppress a yawn. House tried not to look at the others as he thought about what had to be running through their minds. And he was worried about Wilson. Maybe the oncologist wasn't ready to tell everybody what was wrong. After all, the two of them hadn't even sat down to have a formal talk about the whole situation. He had known that this would be eventual but so soon…that he had not expected. Done playing with the IV, House took hold of Wilson's hand and helped him to his feet.

The oncologist looked at them. He sighed. "Well, since you're all here I might as well tell you. I have Myeloid Leukemia."


	42. Let's Do Something

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, slash and language.

**

* * *

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**Chapter Forty-two: Let's do Something**

House looked out the glass windows of his office into the hallway to see Wilson walk by. He cocked in eyebrow out of curiosity but thought nothing of it. He'd been with the oncologist every day for the last week, taking him up to get his chemo and spending time playing video games. There still wasn't a patient that needed his attention so he had hours of free time. He spent his days doing whatever he felt like. He even worked the clinic for a while. Today he'd opted to stay in his office and try to avoid everyone. None of his subordinates had been talking to him. Chase was battling his own issues with Cameron and she was avoiding everyone. House didn't waste any time in trying to figure out what Foreman spent his days doing. He didn't really care. This was an unusual break for all of them and they were taking advantage of it. Who knew when the next patient would come in and with what? This was their chance to recharge their batteries; that's why House let them be.

He went back to poking around his computer, surfing the web out of boredom, having just read a lengthy article on some disease that doctors were worried animals might transmit to humans. He was about to close the browser window and start up some music when he caught movement on the edge of his vision. Wilson walked by his office again, this time going in the opposite direction. This time House frowned in confusion. Things had been fine up until last night when Wilson claimed that he could not sleep. House thought it was a little awkward since the treatment for his cancer was supposed to make him tired, and the oncologist had been so tired the previous days. What had changed?

Wilson walked by for a third time and House couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed his cane and beat a hasty exit from his office, looking left than right as he tried to spot his lover. Wilson had passed by a mere handful of minutes before and now he was gone. House's frown deepened. What the hell was going on?

"If you're looking for Wilson I saw him heading toward the roof," Cuddy said as she came upon the diagnostician. "Something going on with the two of you?"

"Why would you ask a question like that?"

Cuddy shrugged. "He's been acting weird today. He cancelled all his appointments and I've been watching him pace outside your office these last few minutes. I thought maybe the two of you were having an argument or something."

"Whatever is bothering him has nothing to do with me," House said, then added, "Unless he forgot to tell me."

She patted him on the shoulder, an odd gesture that he let slide. He wasn't used to people offering him comfort unless it was Wilson. As he headed toward the elevator he wondered what the hell was wrong with his lover. For a week Wilson had been tired, too exhausted to do much of anything. House had been amazed to watch him day after day. Despite what the treatment for his cancer was doing to him, he still came to work and looked after his patients. When he got home in the night he stayed up for a few hours to keep House company before finally crashing. But last night he couldn't sleep. And today he seemed to have an abundance of energy and yet he'd gone on to cancel all of his appointments. Something was clearly wrong. That worried House. On the ride up to the last floor he thought about the last time he took a trip to the roof. He began to worry even more. Jumping off the roof was a threat people would expect him to make, not Wilson.

He made it down the hallway to the short set of stairs that led to the roof. Outside he saw the dark promise of the clouds on the horizon. Before the day was done it was either going to snow or sleet. Either way he'd have to ride with Wilson home in the car instead of on his motorcycle. He looked around the roof for Wilson, thinking it weird that they didn't even arrive to work in the same car.

"House, what are you doing up here?" Wilson asked, coming toward him.

"I could ask you the same thing," he replied. He kept himself positioned right in front of the door. There was no way he was letting Wilson escape without a good talk, or at least a reasonable explanation.

Wilson shrugged. "I have too much energy, House. I'm restless and I am so….sick of coming to work. I want to do something else…"

"Wilson…"

"Let's do something, House," he interrupted. "Let's go to Atlantic City or drive up to New York."

"Wilson…"

"I've always wanted to learn to fly a plane. I could do that. Then I could fly us anywhere in the world."

"Wilson!"

Wilson blinked, surprised by the force of House's voice. "What?" he asked, frowning.

"First off," House started, leaning on his cane. "You're bleeding." Wilson cursed and pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, pressing it to his nose. "Second, are you sure that you're not on uppers or anything? For a sick person….never mind. How about we ditch work for a movie? Cuddy told me that you cancelled all your appointments and I don't have a patient…"

"A movie? That's the best you can come up with?" Wilson said.

"We'll start with a movie," House remarked, looking in the direction of the approaching storm front. He was hoping that by the time the movie let out the storm would be in full swing. The slick roads should bring Wilson back to his right mind, make him think sensibly again. Until then House was going to have to see what he could do. He made sure that Wilson vacated the roof first, incase he get the idea to try parachuting without a parachute. As he worked his way carefully down the stairs he worried about Wilson. Something had to be wrong. He had to be hiding something. House didn't like the feeling that was settling in the pit of his stomach.


	43. One

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer:** Angst, slash, and language.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Forty-Three: One**

Chase stood outside of Cameron's place, his palms slightly sweaty. Nothing had been going right between the two of them for the last few days. He didn't understand why he loved her so much when she could be so cold and cruel. He missed the woman that cared about every patient that walked through the door. Why had she stopped showing him that same compassion? He knew that it was because he'd brought up her feelings for House. What else was he supposed to do? He was worried about losing her. It had been a long time since he'd last felt this way for anyone and he wasn't about to just walk away. He couldn't give up. Not now. Not yet. If House and Wilson could make things work then he could make them work with Cameron.

Now if he could only get up the courage to knock on the door.

She saved him the trouble, opening it for him, looking down at him. He was standing at the bottom of the steps with a bouquet of flowers in one hand, snowing swirling around him as it blanketed the city in the white. He smiled nervously, afraid that she was going to yell at him or something worse. Instead she surprised him by coming down the stairs, taking his arm and directing him up the stairs and through the open door. She closed it softly behind her, the warmth of the apartment driving away the chill that had developed.

"May I ask why you're standing outside my place like some scary stalker?" Cameron asked, turning to him.

He smiled again, swallowing nervously, and held out the flowers. "I wanted to bring you a peace offering. I know that I messed up and I wanted to clear the air. What do you say?"

She seemed to be mulling over his suggestion while chewing on the inside of her bottom lip. "Okay, I'll hear what you have to say."

"I know that I was wrong in what I said about House," he started off. "I never should have doubted your love for me and I feel rotten that I did. These last few days without you have been like hell and there's no way I can let this go on. You may no longer feel what you once felt for me but nothing has changed for me. I still love you, Cameron. There's a good chance that I'm always going to love you. I miss holding you. I miss waking up next to you and I…" he sighed. None of what he was saying made sense; he was like a rambling made man. There was no way this was going to work.

To his surprise Cameron walked toward him, taking the flowers and smelling the delicate petals. She smiled, her eyes closed. With the glow of the lamp from the living room Chase thought she looked like an angel. Was this going to be the last happy image he had of her, the one that he would keep in his mind for the rest of his life? He felt the weight of the small box in his pocket. He wanted nothing more than to give it to her but he didn't have the courage. Not tonight. He waited for her to say something. The minutes passed slowly before she turned her beautiful eyes on him, smiling.

"I'm sorry, Chase," she spoke. "You had every right to be upset with me and look what I did. I should be the one asking for forgiveness, not you."

He pulled her close. "Let's just wipe the slate clean, forget about the whole thing. What do you say to that?"

She rested her head against his chest. "Works for me."

---------------------------------------------------

House climbed behind the wheel of the car. He loved Wilson but tonight he didn't want his lover driving them anywhere. He counted himself lucky to find that the movie theatre had a double-feature that evening. That kept him and Wilson busy until the sun fell and now the roads were too messy for driving anywhere but home. He made it clear to Wilson that they were going home and nowhere else. He wasn't sure if Wilson heard him though; he'd been standing in the parking lot with his arms out, spinning in slow circles as the snow fell around him. House had stood watching him, thinking of how much he loved the crazy oncologist. He marveled at how their roles had reversed in the matter of one day. Instead of Wilson being the one standing there worried about the ups and downs of his lover's depression, it was House that was almost constantly worried.

What would he do if he had to live without Wilson?

He hated that thought. He quickly banished it as he slid the key into the ignition, turning it. The car started and he turned the heater on. Wilson was still outside, leaning against the hood of the car. House wanted to stay in the car. His leg hurt and his hands were cold but he knew that something was on the oncologist's mind so he climbed out of the warming car. He left his cane behind, using the car for support. He came to rest on the hood next to Wilson.

"Something on your mind?"

"I love you," Wilson said, his eyes closing.

House felt his heart skip a beat out of fear. "Wilson…"

"Let's get married."

House stopped breathing, staring down at that snow on the pavement of the theatre parking lot. He hadn't even thought about taking that step and here Wilson was proposing that they do it. The metal of the ring on his finger felt colder than it had a minute ago. He thought it weird that the word 'marry' would cause him to shiver in fear when he'd been the one to give Wilson a ring in the first place. They'd been wearing the matching bands for weeks, months even. Why…

"I'll take your silence to be a no…"

"No, Wilson…" House realized that not answering had been the worse thing he could have done. He'd been taken by surprise. "I never thought anyone would want to marry me." And I never thought you'd want to get married again, he thought.

Wilson moved, standing in front of House for a second before leaning forward, resting his head on House's chest. "I love you, House. You're the only one I love. Is it so wrong to want to share my life with you?"

No, House thought as he wrapped her arms around the man he loved. But he didn't say anything. There were too many things running through his mind and he couldn't pin down even one thought long enough to give it careful consideration. He stood there with his arms around the man he loved, Wilson clinging to him like a life preserver, the snow swirling around them.


	44. Feels Like Love

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language and slash.

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**Chapter Forty-Four: Feels Like Love**

He couldn't sleep. His mind was racing a mile a minute and he couldn't find the off switch. He rolled onto his side but the glare of the red numbers on his alarm clock seemed to be mocking him so he rolled onto his back. The ceiling had no answers for him. What was he supposed to do? Sleeping soundly beside him was the man he loved, the same man who brought up the subject of marriage. House felt….awkward. He was somewhat thrilled by the idea and yet not so sure it was a good idea at all. Their relationship had been anything but smooth. Was marriage the right thing for them? And what would the others think? Not that he really cared what they thought about his life but he couldn't keep from wondering if they would be okay with it or if they would freak out. He thought about the conversation he'd had not too long ago with Wilson, the one about Cameron still having feelings for him.

This wasn't working. He was never going to get any sleep at this rate.

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Looking back over his shoulder he saw Wilson sleeping quietly, the movements having left him undisturbed. House stood, grabbed his cane and made his way toward the dresser. He pulled out a pair of pants and the first shirt he could find before leaving the bedroom behind. He proceeded to get dressed in the living room, slipping on a pair of sneakers before finding a set of keys and leaving. He knew that there was no risk of Wilson waking up. His lover was exhausted after not sleeping the night before. They'd made it home from the movies and Wilson had gone to bed almost instantly, the day having taken all the energy he had.

Outside the snow was still falling, a good foot already on the ground. House ignored the white flakes and headed toward Wilson's silver Mercedes. He would rather have taken his motorcycle but the roads had been slick on the way home and there was no doubt in his mind that they'd be worse by now. There were going to be at least three or four people in the hospital when morning came, all victims of accidents. He wouldn't have to deal with any of them so he didn't care. He climbed behind the wheel, put the key in the ignition and turned on the car.

The roads were pretty empty so it took him no time at all to reach Cuddy's house. Why he thought talking to her would solve all his problems was something he didn't want to dwell on. Maybe it was the simple fact that he knew whatever was said would go no further than her. If he told Cameron or Chase or Foreman they would be talking about it all the damn time. No, this was something that he needed to talk about with confidence that it wouldn't be all over the hospital in less than an hour. He parked the Mercedes in the driveway and climbed out. As he limped up the walkway he noticed that there was a light burning somewhere in the house, the warm glow visible through a curtained window. At least he wouldn't be waking her up; not that he ever worried about disturbing her sleep. If he couldn't sleep why should everyone else get the luxury?

He made sure his knock on the door was loud. He waited a few minutes wishing that he'd put on a coat before leaving. The door opened and there stood Cuddy in her bathrobe. She took one look at him and walked away, leaving the door open. He stepped into the house, closing the door behind him. It was warm and cozy. He'd been here before but it was always fun to look around to see what things had been changed. Tonight he wasn't really in the mood for trying to pry into her private life.

"What do you want, Greg?" she asked as she entered the living room. She sat on the couch, leaning on the arm and bringing her legs up beside her. There was a blue coffee mug on the side table with steam wafting off it. From the smell he judged it to be hot chocolate.

"I need someone to talk to," he said. For some reason he felt nervous. Things between him and Cuddy had been rough the last few months. Neither one of them really talked about what happened in the past. Instead they went about their daily lives acting like none of it had happened. Maybe they both hoped that things would magically heal themselves. Now, standing in her house, he felt that gap between them and wondered if this had been a good idea.

"You look tired. Maybe you should go home and sleep," she remarked. She picked up the blue mug and took a sip from it.

"I can't sleep," he stated.

Instantly the look on her face changed from weary to worried. "Why? Something isn't wrong with you or Wilson…"

He finally took a seat in an arm chair. "Wilson is sleeping like a baby. We went to the movies this afternoon and when we were standing in the parking lot….He wants to get married."

Cuddy stared at him in silence, the blue mug still in her hands. "Well…and what did you say?"

"Nothing. I said absolutely nothing."

"I'm sure that went over well," she remarked. "Do you want to marry him?"

He frowned. "If I knew the answer to that I wouldn't be sitting here now would I?"

"This is all really very simple, House. The only question you really need to be asking yourself is whether or not you love him," she said. "Do you love him?"

It was House's turn to be silent. He thought about Wilson at home sleeping in their bed. He thought about the pain he'd gone through when Wilson had been sent to another state. Then he saw Wilson standing before him when he hurt himself. He heard the doctor talking beside his bed when he was in the hospital from overdosing on morphine. Did he love Wilson? Did he even understand what it was to be in love? All these years and he'd never grown close to anyone. Not until things fell into place and he ended up sharing every aspect of his life with the now sick oncologist. Would he miss Wilson when he was gone? Of course he would. Wilson was his rock. Wilson was the main reason he got up every morning.

"It feels like love," he finally said.

Cuddy frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's been so long…"

"Greg, getting married is not a hard thing to understand. You marry the person you can't live without," Cuddy spoke. "And from what I've seen, you can't live without Wilson. I think you should say yes but then again, you never listen to a thing I say."

House smiled. He actually felt better and he had made up his mind, he finally had answer. "Do you want me to listen to what you say?"

Cuddy's eyes got wide with surprise, or was it fear? "Are you kidding me? The day you start listening to me, House, is the day I check myself in."

"Thanks," he said, standing. "I really needed this." He headed for the door.

"See you at work tomorrow."

"If I decide to come in," he yelled back over his shoulder.


	45. Let's Make Sure We Kiss Goodbye

**Title: **Mending A Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, slash and language.

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**Chapter Forty-Five: Let's Make Sure We Kiss Goodbye**

House woke up Wilson when he got home. He wasn't trying to but the sound of the car door and then the apartment door closing were enough to rouse the sleeping oncologist. He came stumbling out of the bedroom with nothing but his boxers on, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked at House, taking in the clothes, the shoes. "Where have you been?"

"I couldn't sleep so I went for a drive. I needed to clear my head," House said, keeping his night visit to see Cuddy a secret. For some reason he didn't want Wilson to know about it. "Sorry that I woke you."

"The bed is cold without you," Wilson said.

House looked at his lover and noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Was Wilson looking paler than usual? He limped toward Wilson, resting his cane against the back of the sofa. He took Wilson's hand in his. "Let's go back to bed. There's a lot we need to talk about but I want a good night's rest first."

Wilson followed him back to the bedroom and watched him strip. They climbed into bed, pulling the covers high and House snuggled close to Wilson, wrapping his arms around him. But even as Wilson fell into a deep sleep House found himself, once again, unable to sleep. He was no longer worried about the issue of marriage. That had gone out the window as soon as he'd seen Wilson. Earlier that night the oncologist had seemed fine, even livelier than usual. But now it was clear that he was sick, anyone looking at him would be able to see it. And now that they didn't have any clothing between them he could tell that Wilson had lost more weight. Either it was a minor side-affect of the treatment or they were losing the battle.

Eventually House managed to fall asleep but his dreams were occupied by nightmares.

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When he got up in the morning Wilson was not in the bed with him. He closed his eyes momentarily before rolling over and tossing back the blanket. He could hear the sound of pots and pans in the kitchen. Looking at his clock he realized that they had at least an hour and half before they needed to be into work. They usually slept longer but it was evident to him that there was too much on their minds. There was a serious need to do some talking. He wanted to bring up the marriage issue again and ask Wilson to share the details of the cancer, even if things weren't going that well. Getting out of bed he threw on the same clothes he'd worn last night on his little trip to see Cuddy. She wouldn't say anything about his outfit. Hell, she probably wouldn't even notice that the Grateful Dead T-shirt was the one he'd worn to her place.

Out in the kitchen he found Wilson leaning against the counter top, his back to House. "Something wrong?" he asked, worried that maybe his lover was feeling sick.

But when Wilson turned to look at him he looked healthier than he had a few hours before. Maybe the hours of sleep had been good for him. "I need cheese and there isn't any. I wanted to make omelets but…"

House held up his hand. "Say no more. I'll go down to the store and get some. I shouldn't be more than five minutes." He slipped on his coat and grabbed his keys. He could see out the window that the streets were plowed and the snow had stopped falling. He'd finally be able to take out his motorcycle.

"Wait," Wilson said, House's hand on the doorknob. Wilson walked up to him and kissed him. It wasn't anything really special, just a soft brush of lips but it still sent a shiver down House's spine.

He bid Wilson farewell and headed out the door. He was happy to be able to enjoy his motorcycle, slipping on his helmet and thrusting the key into the ignition. The motor roared to life as he slipped his cane into the special holder. He would keep the trip to the store short so that he could get home with enough time to talk over breakfast. He really wanted to give Wilson his answer to the marriage question, and he wanted to do it before work. Pulling into the early morning traffic he headed down the street in the direction of the closest store. The light at the corner turned red and he slowed to a stop, thinking how weird it was that he was driving around before dawn to get cheese. Before he could dwell on it the light turned green and he eased into the intersection. But someone ran the red light. Or their car lost traction on the pavement. He wasn't sure which but he tried to avoid the vehicle barreling down on him, turning the front wheel of his motorcycle…

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Wilson covered his mouth as he coughed. He wasn't entirely sure but judging by the rattling in his chest he figured he'd come down with a case of pneumonia. He knew that the risks of chemotherapy made him more susceptible to infection and so far he'd been lucky not to get sick. It looked like his run of luck was up. When he got to the hospital he'd see about having a chest x-ray done to verify his diagnosis. He prayed that it was just pneumonia. In a worst case scenario he knew that it could be the cancer spreading. But he had high hopes that he would beat the nasty disease. He knew it better than anyone else. He worked with it every day and he knew the signs. His body was fighting and yesterday was proof to him that he was taking steps in the right direction. The sooner he treated his pneumonia the better off he would be.

He looked at the clock on the wall and frowned. If he recalled correctly House had left twenty minutes ago. The nearest store was two blocks away. Even with a bum leg it shouldn't have taken more than ten minutes to get their, buy the cheese, and get back home. Wilson was beginning to worry. The snow from the night before was plowed from the roads and he'd heard at least two plows go by in the last ten minutes so he knew the roads were treated to dissolve any black ice. Maybe House was only running late because he decided to buy more than cheese. He had mentioned something about wanting to talk before they went back to bed. There was any number of explanations for him to be late.

He started cracking the eggs into a bowl to mix them together. That way he could start the omelets as soon as House returned with the cheese. He knew that he could eat the eggs without cheese but they always made them taste better. And what was an omelet without cheese? He was cracking the fifth egg when the phone rang. He stopped, his heart skipping a beat. He was afraid to answer the phone. It rang again and again but he couldn't move, the broken shell all but forgotten in his hand. The phone kept ringing. He swallowed nervously, dropping the shell on the counter. He had to answer it. That was the only way he would know for certain that he'd been crazy to think that…

"Ello?" he said, picking up the phone.

He heard someone sniffle on the other end but it was in the distance, not from the person on the other end. "Wilson, you need to get to the hospital. There's been an accident." He didn't hear if anything else had been said because he was out the door before Cuddy had finished say 'accident'.


	46. For the Last Time

Title: Mending a Broken Man

Disclaimer: Angst, slash and language.

**I love you guys! You rule!  
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**Chapter Forty-Six: For the Last Time**

He nearly got into an accident himself on the drive to the hospital. Thoughts were racing through his mind so fast that he couldn't even pick them all out. A few of them passed through in bold scripture and those were the ones he did not want to think of; House leaving him, living his life without the man he loved, the kiss they'd shared just that morning. He focused on the kiss while he sat at a red light that he thought would never end. Why had he felt compelled to kiss House this morning? He had never kissed him before, mainly because they left at the same time. But for the first time he'd kissed him before letting him leave the apartment. He'd been hit with this unexplainable urge to do so and now he couldn't help but wonder why; what force had been at work earlier this morning?

The light turned green and he pressed the gas peddle down as far as it would go. He had to get to the hospital to make sure that House was okay. His cell phone, sitting on the passenger seat where he'd thrown it, kept ringing, no doubt someone from the hospital trying to reach him. But he didn't bother reaching over to answer it. He was a matter of minutes away when that car pulled out in front of him, cutting him off. He hit the breaks, the tires screeching on the slick pavement, his cell phone sliding off the seat and landing on the floor. The person in front of him then had the audacity to stick his hand out the window and give the one fingered salute. Normally Wilson would sit there wondering what the world was coming to but all his thoughts were about House and getting to the hospital.

Finally he reached his destination, parking in the first available space he could find. He left his cell phone on the floor, locked the car, and raced toward the building entrance. At one point he slipped on the ice, just barely managing to keeps his balance. The automatic doors of the hospital entrance opened with a whoosh. Cameron was waiting for him at the front desk. Instead of stopping to chat with her he headed straight for the elevators, even though he didn't know where they'd taken House. His first guess was the emergency room, then he'd check intensive care.

The doors to the elevator were about to close when Cameron managed to slip through. They were the only two in the elevator. Her eyes were red from crying. He was afraid to say anything for fear of falling apart himself. He knew if he said anything he would start to cry.

Cameron wiped her nose with a tissue. "Wilson…"

He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable. But instead of an endless stream of incomprehensible words there was only silence.

In the next minute she threw her arms around him, taking him by complete surprise. A few days ago he'd been thinking about how much he disliked the way she looked at House. Now she was crying on his shoulder, looking for comfort. Wasn't he the one that was supposed to be crying? Shouldn't he be seeking comfort? Neither one of them said anything on the ride or during the walk down the hallway. He knew when they were nearing House's room because he saw Chase and Foreman milling around in the hallway. The closer he drew to the room the more surreal it all seemed. This wasn't right. This wasn't happening. Any moment now he was going to wake up and it would all be just a bad dream. And even as that thought crossed his mind he knew that it was wrong. This was not a dream. This was reality.

This was how it felt to have his heartbroken.

Cameron said something to him but he didn't hear her, the words not reaching his fogged brain. He was working on autopilot, pushing open the door to the hospital room. His brain registered the change from the noisy hallway to the room with the beeping of machinery. Cuddy stood beside the bed. She turned at the sound of the door opening and when she that it was Wilson she walked toward him. They embraced. Wilson looked at House lying in the bed, the bandages. He looked away, letting his eyes focus on nothing.

"How…" he managed to choke out. The rest of the words wouldn't come, wouldn't form.

"We got lucky," she said, her voice hushed. "There was an off-duty cop at the bookstore on the corner. He witnessed the accident and called it in. First on the scene, he did his best with helping House but he's not a trained paramedic. And-"

"How did it happen?" Wilson knew that he was stalling. He didn't want to hear about House's condition. He wasn't ready yet. The bandages, the smell, the fact that House was not awake; he felt that he could barely stand. He looked away again.

"According to the officer, the light turned green, House pulled into the intersection. The other person ran the red light and House tried to avoid him…"

"Is he going to be okay, Cuddy?"

"He's got a lot of scraps and bruises, Wilson. His leg got caught between the bike and the pavement-"

For some reason Wilson felt compelled to ask, "Which leg?"

Cuddy closed her eyes and that was enough of an answer for Wilson. She placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention to her. "Wilson, even though he had his helmet on…the force of the impact….he hasn't regained consciousness….if he doesn't wake up…"

"Don't," Wilson said his voice gravely. "Don't even say it. He's a stubborn fool. He'll be okay."

"Wilson…"

"He's House. He has to be okay."

"I know, but you have to be realistic, Wilson. There's a chance-"

"No," he said rather harshly, the word slicing through the air like a knife. "This morning will not be the last time we kiss. I won't let him go. Not without a fight. He's going to be okay. He'll fight."


	47. When I Look Into Your Heart

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, slash, and language.

**Check my profile for some cool news!**

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**Chapter Forty-Seven: When I Look Into Your Heart**

Wilson looked at his watch, the minute hand passing the top of the hour. He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. It had now officially been two days since the accident and House had yet to open his eyes. The nurse had left him with good news earlier, telling him how House's vital signs were stable. Stable vital signs were important. But House had to wake up. He had to open his eyes because what if he was in pain and they didn't know? How could they treat him properly without knowing whether or not they were missing something? He sighed. At this rate he was going to worry himself right into the grave where he would be absolutely no help to anyone. Someone knocked softly on the door, entering before he could say anything. Cuddy. She wanted to ask of him a favor, to treat his patients while she sat bedside. At first he was reluctant to leave, telling her that he had to stay by House's side. But deep down he knew what she said was true. He needed to get away, get some fresh air, focus on something else before he went crazy.

With one last look over his shoulder he headed out the door, turning toward the oncology ward.

There were five appointments for him that day. It started with a young mother of three and possible breast cancer. He preformed the test but the results were not clear and he informed her that they would have to do it again. She scheduled to return in a week. Next was the sixteen-year-old girl with Hodgkin's Lymphoma, stage one. After a test he told her and her parents that he feared that the disease was progressing to stage two. With consent they agreed to change her treatment, fighting it more aggressively. As soon as he was finished with them he moved onto the man he'd diagnosed with brain cancer. All the other tests had come back clean, the cancer hadn't spread and the brain tumor was operable. The man was already scheduled for his surgery but he wanted to talk with Wilson in hopes of alleviating his fears. Wilson did the best he could, offering up statistics, explaining how the surgery would be done step-by-step.

He had time for a quick lunch before his last two patients of the day. He took a bit of his sandwich while looking over a handful of folders in his office. It turned out that Cuddy was right; he needed to get away from House's hospital bed and try to make his days more normal. He needed the break. He took a sip of water and instantly started coughing. He thought it would pass quickly but two minutes later, when there was a knock on his door, he was still coughing, his chest hurting. Chase opened the door and stepped inside, alarmed. Wilson held up one hand, grabbing the cup of water with his other one. The vial thing had started this coughing fit maybe it would help put an end to it. He downed most of the cup before the coughing ended.

"Are you okay?" Chase asked.

Wilson shook his head. "I've been so worried about House that I forgot…my mind has been busy."

"How many treatments have you missed?"

"Three or four," Wilson said. "Too many."

"Perhaps after your last patient you should take care of it," Chase suggested. "You know that one of us is always willing to wait bedside. And we'd call you if anything changed. Don't let your own health deteriorate. I don't want to be the one that tells House you're gone when he finally comes to. You should be the one standing by his bed when he does come back to us."

Wilson held up his hand again. "Don't worry. I'll do it," he said. He stood, pushing back his chair. "But first I have to deal with these last two patients so it'll have to wait."

The fourth patient was a man that had been smoking most of his life. Wilson had seen him nearly a year ago when the guy had come in with what turned out to be only a scare. This time the tests were positive. The guy had developed lung cancer. Wilson tried to explain to the man that he'd warned him, that he outlined the risks of heavy smoking. Apparently his words never hit base because the man continued to smoke a pack a day. Now he was dealing with the consequences of his actions. He left the room in a subdued state, mumbling something about a follow-up appointment that Wilson didn't expect him to keep. His last patient of the day was a woman he'd been treating for ovarian cancer. As usual they got to talking about the day and that led to other things.

"You look tired, Dr. Wilson," she remarked, brushing back a piece of graying-auburn hair from her face.

Wilson normally would have played it off as nothing but… "I am," he said. "There have been a lot of rough days lately."

"I'm sure that they haven't been that bad. I mean, that ring on your finger is new. I bet the person that gave it to you really loves you and wants to see you happy," she said.

He was sitting on a stool facing her. Now he looked away, the band of metal on his finger feeling heavier than ever. He recalled that night in the theatre parking lot, the snow falling as he asked House about marriage. He'd be happy just to look into House's pale blue eyes.

"Oh," his patient whispered. "Things aren't well with…I'm sorry I brought it up. She's a fool for leaving you."

Wilson couldn't help smiling slightly. "He," he corrected her. "And he hasn't left me yet. He was in a car accident and-"

He felt the warmth of her hand on his. "You're always telling me not to give up hope. I think now would be a good time to follow your own advice, Dr. Wilson. If you truly love him then never let him forget it, never let a minute pass where there's even the slightest bit of doubt."

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He collapsed into the chair, his body tired, his mind equally so. It had been a trying day and House was still not awake. Even though he was tired he felt somewhat lighter. He'd gotten out and seen his patients. He did his chemotherapy treatment. He had a pleasant chat with a woman who might not live much longer. Her words made him see the world in a whole new way. He reached up, taking House's still hand in his own, entwining their fingers.

"You have to wake-up, House," he spoke clearly. "This isn't fair to me, this…coma or whatever the fuck you want to call it. Where is the stubborn fool that I fell in love with? Where is that man that makes my heart beat faster with merely a glance? I want to get lost in your blue eyes, swept away by your kisses. Please, House…I know that you think many people don't care if you live. But I do, House, and I'm the only one that matters." He paused, chewing his bottom lip. After a few minutes he continued. "When I look into your heart I see all the scars that others have left behind and I want to make them fade. I want to make you smile every day of your life. Please, House, I love you."

He sighed, the last of his energy draining away as one of the machines began to beep frantically.


	48. Little Things

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, and slash.

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**Chapter Forty-Eight: Little Things**

The sound scared Wilson, the rush of adrenaline making him jump out of his chair. The door flew open as the doctor and nurses came in to see what was going on. Wilson was told to leave them room and he did, knowing that even if he tried to stay out of the way he'd be hampering their work. Outside in the hallway the rate of his pulse began to return to normal. The flurry of action, the sudden increase in his heart rate and the slightest increase in his breathing brought on another coughing fit. He leaned back against the wall, one arm covering his mouth while the other crossed over his aching chest. The sound of alarms had brought Cuddy to the scene first. She stopped in front of Wilson with a frown on her face. He could tell she was torn between going into the room to check on House and staying to make sure that he was okay. She chose to stay with him.

His coughing eventually subsided, having lasted roughly a minute. At the same time the doctor and the nurses filed out of the room. Cuddy stopped the doctor, a hand on the older man's arm. "What happened? Is he okay?"

The doctor offered them a smile. "He's fine. We checked him over and it looks like the machine malfunctioned. I'm having the nurses bring in a new one."

"Are you sure that's all it was?" Cuddy pushed.

"Yes, I'm sure," the doctor said before he walked away.

Cuddy watched the doctor until he disappeared around a corner. Then she turned back to face Wilson, only to find the oncologist staring at his hand. "Wilson…?"

He held up his hand, the palm facing her. There was blood marring the smooth skin.

"Oh my…"

"I think I might have pneumonia," Wilson said. "I was going to get myself tested but then…I forgot…"

She wrapped an arm around his and they started down the hallway. She didn't say anything about the fact that he felt like he'd lost weight. She understood what he was going through and telling him that he looked like hell wouldn't help, even if his skin was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. "Let's get you tested. You should have known better, Wilson. Without treatment you're contagious. Do you want House to catch it while he's lying in that bed?"

"No," Wilson remarked. "I never meant to let it go…"

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The test came back positive and Wilson was placed on antibiotics. The doctor said nothing about Wilson's cancer. He felt tired, rundown. He knew that he wasn't doing himself any good but sitting beside House's bed and worrying but what else was he going to do? The sun had fallen below the horizon and the thought of sleeping was very unappealing. Not that he would have been able to sleep anyway. He hadn't slept much at all since the accident and that wasn't good for his body. He needed to rest if he hoped to get better. He entertained the thought of taking sleeping pills just to help him through one night; the reason he didn't was because he was already on so many other meds. He didn't want to risk overdosing.

Cuddy left him shortly after the test, something about an important meeting that she had to prepare herself for the next day. Looking at the clock he knew that Chase and Cameron would have left for home. Foreman was probably gone too, if he wasn't busy with his nose in a book. That left him free to head back to House's hospital room. And that's exactly where he went.

As he stepped through the door his eyes fell on House and he thought that the diagnostician looked a little pale. He shrugged it off; after all, the man had been in a car accident. He settled into the chair, his body aching. He watched as House's chest rose and fell with each breath. They were keeping him on a respirator just to cover all the bases. The doctor was convinced that they didn't need it but he wanted to keep it in until House woke up. Wilson understood. Sometimes it paid to be extra careful.

"You need to wake up," he said to House. "You need to open those eyes and look at the world with the same disdain that you always have. I want you to say something, anything, even if it's vulgar. If you don't wake up…who am I going to piss off? Who am I going to love day after day? Come on, Greg," he continued his voice tired. "You are a stubborn son of a bitch, I know you are. Show me how much you hate to loose. Open your eyes and show me that you love me. Please, House."

He closed his eyes, his body finally giving in to the drugs in his system. His dreams were nightmares and his rest fitful. He was dreaming about what the hospital would be like without House when he heard this incessant beeping sound. Dream Chase kept talking, having taken over the role of House, as Dream Wilson looked around for the sound. Someone shook him and he woke up, nearly falling out of the chair. If his body ached before it hurt even more now. Sleeping in the chair had not been a good idea.

The beeping sound.

He looked around the room, finally wide awake. The doctor was back, as were the nurses. And House was crashing. He watched in silence as they tried to bring House back. As they readied the paddles he thought about how much House loved his cooking; the way he refused to follow the rules; how rarely he smiled. These and so many other thoughts went through his mind as he watched them get House's heart beating again, as they wheeled the hospital bed out of the room. He was sitting in the same spot when Cuddy found him.

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"What the hell happened?" Cuddy demanded anger in her voice. "You assured me that House was fine and then this…" She gestured wildly with her hands.

The doctor held up his hands. "With all due respect, Dr. Cuddy, none of us could have seen this coming. The bleed was so small…"

"House would have seen it coming," Wilson muttered.

"Look, I realized that I fucked up," the doctor pressed on. "It happens. Even Dr. House has made mistakes. But he's still alive. We got the internal bleeding under control and he'll be fine. Correction, he _should_ be fine. Now if you don't mind, I have other patients that I need to attend to." And the doctor left.

Wilson shook his head. He felt somewhat guilty. He'd been the one sitting beside House's bed for the last few days and he hadn't noticed anything wrong. Not until earlier that night when he noticed how pale House looked and he shrugged it off. They had almost lost him on the table, the knick in the vein so small that it looked like little more than a papercut. House had been slowly bleeding to death internally and they hadn't known. _He_ hadn't known. He closed his eyes as the guilt washed over him again. House had nearly died because of him. Maybe if he hadn't been so tired he would have noticed that something was wrong, that there was some underlying reason for House not waking up. But he'd been so worried that he let his own health go and look where it got him. He played with the ring on his finger, thinking about that night at the movie theatre. Maybe it was a good thing he never got House's answer.

He took the ring off and slid it into his pocket. The accident, the failure to notice the internal bleeding; they were his fault. He'd nearly killed House twice. He didn't deserve the love that House had for him. And that's why he vowed to let House go.


	49. That Friend of Mine

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language and slash.

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**Chapter Forty-Nine: That Friend of Mine**

House woke up the next day but Wilson wasn't there. Waiting beside his bed instead was Cameron. She sat in the uncomfortable looking chair flipping through a magazine so she didn't see him open his eyes. It gave him enough time to study her. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and as usual she looked stunning in choice of outfit for the day. House stared at her wondering why he'd never been able to find her attractive. For the longest time she'd had a crush on him and often tried to get him to admit that he felt the same way. But one of the things he couldn't get passed was her ex-husband, the man she'd married knowing that he was going to die from a brain tumor. He didn't want to be someone's pity lover. He wanted the real thing. He wanted what he'd found in Wilson. He cleared his throat, startling her.

She looked up with a smile on her lips. "Welcome back to the world of the living."

"Was I dead?" I asked, his voice was scratchy due to a dry throat. She got up, placing the magazine on the chair, and poured him a glass of water.

"The same old House," she remarked.

He sipped the refreshing liquid. "Would you have it any other way?"

"Well…there are days…"

"Where is Wilson?" he asked, not really in the mood to beat around the bush.

Cameron hesitated a fraction of a second. "Last time I saw him he was working in his office. Cuddy has really been on his case about getting his work done. Something about him worrying about you not good for his health."

"You hesitated," House said. "Why did you hesitate? What are you trying to hide?"

"I'm not trying to hide anything," she defended, taking a step back.

"Bullshit."

"House…"

"Go get Wilson. I want to talk to him," he ordered, pushing the button on the remote to raise his bed so that he was in a sitting position. When he saw that she hadn't moved he glared at her. "That means now."

Letting out an exasperated sigh she headed for the door, leaving him in the room alone. Now that he was by himself, he did a mental check of all the aches and pains. His chest hurt slightly and there was a pounding in his head. There was a slight burning sensation along his right side and he reached over to inspect the cause. Stitches. He had stitches. He let his hand fall away, closing his eyes. Why did he have stitches? The incision was too small to be part of some big surgery. Wilson, he'd wait for Wilson to show up. He'd have no trouble getting answers out of his lover. The oncologist would explain everything. He shifted his weight, expecting Wilson to walk through the door at any moment. He tried to move his bum leg only to find that he couldn't because the pain was too much. He cried out involuntarily.

"House?" the door opened and he was joined by Cuddy.

He frowned, unhappy to see her instead of Wilson. How long could it possibly take for Cameron to get to Wilson's office and get him down here? "Where's Wilson?"

"Seeing a patient," Cuddy answered. "It's nice to see you awake."

"I want to see Wilson."

Cuddy stood at the foot of the bed with her arms folded across her chest. "House, he will be down here as soon as he's done with his patient. Now I need to know how you feel."

House chose to remain quite.

Cuddy sighed. "House, please, this is important. You were rushed into the ER yesterday because of undiagnosed internal bleeding. I need to know how you feel."

"What kind of idiot doctor do you have taking care of me?"

"House…"

"Aside from being a little sore I'm fucking peachy," he said.

"Sore? Where?"

House rolled his eyes but knew that answering her questions would get her to leave sooner. "My chest, the site of the stitches and my leg. Are you happy now?"

"Do you remember the accident?"

"Yes," he snapped. "I remember the entire damn thing. I remember trying to swerve so the car wouldn't hit me. I remember my bike going down and…"

"Consider yourself lucky, House," she remarked, her voice remaining calm. "Your helmet protected your head. The handlebar was forced against your chest, cracking two of your ribs. And your leg got caught between the bike and the pavement. We x-rayed it extensively but found nothing. Aside from the internal bleeding your injuries were minor."

"I don't care," House grumbled. "I want to see Wilson."

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Wilson wasn't seeing a patient. He'd lied to Cameron when she came to tell him that House had finally woken up. Part of him wanted to jump out of his chair and race downstairs. But he ignored that part and listened to the voice of reason instead. He was going to keep his distance from House. If he wasn't around there was little risk of him hurting House again. He loved Greg with all his heart but he couldn't bear to see him get hurt again. He tried to concentrate on the folder that lay spread across the top of his desk. The words jumbled together, blurred. There was a knock at his door and even though he didn't invite the knocker in the door opened. He looked up to see Cuddy closing the door behind her. He knew what was coming.

"Why are you hiding out in here, Wilson? House is awake and he's been asking for you," she said.

Wilson rubbed his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision. "I'm sorry but I don't feel like visiting with him."

She raised her eyebrows in a look of surprise. "Is something wrong, Wilson? For two days straight you sat by his bed waiting for him to wake up and now you won't even go see him?"

"Tell him I'm busy."

"He's your lover," she said.

"He's my friend," Wilson shot back.

The words caught Cuddy by surprise and she didn't try to hide her shock. She looked at his hand, realized that the ring was missing. Wilson caught her looking and slipped his hand back under the desk where she couldn't see it but it was already too late. "What happened, Wilson? Why are you ditching House in his time of need?"

"I'm not ditching him," Wilson said. "I just think it would be better if we were apart."

Cuddy shook his head. "It's going to kill him. He's been asking for you and…"

"Tell him I'm busy."

Cuddy turned around, opening the door. She looked back over her shoulder. "You tell him. He's your _friend_."


	50. If You Ever Have Forever in Mind

Title: Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, language, and slash.

Author Note: And so this ends Part One of this story. The first chapter of Part Two will be posted next Friday. The week allows me time to write even more awesome chapters for you guys without feeling rushed! I hope you guys come back because you all totally rock!

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**Chapter Fifty: If You Ever Have Forever in Mind**

Wilson slipped the pen into the cup on his desktop, finally done with his work. He looked at the watch on his wrist to see that two hours had passed since Cuddy had been up to see him. He was amazed that nobody else had come to see if he was going to answer House's request. Either Cuddy had passed along the news to them that he wasn't going to see House or she had told them to leave him alone. He knew that he was going to have to eventually go see the man that he loved just to break his heart but the courage he needed to do it wasn't there. He'd been waiting all his life to fall in love, to find a love that would last. For a while he thought House was the one he'd been searching for- he knew House was the one he'd been searching for- but now he was going to break his lover's heart. He had decided that it would be best for the two of them if he ended things. House didn't deserve to love someone that was sick, someone that would place his life in danger. He sighed, pushing his chair away from the desk.

There really wasn't a good time to break someone's heart so he figured he'd get it done, over with. After all, he was going to have to hunt down a hotel room for the night.

Heading down the hallway, his hands in the pockets of his coat, a grim expression on his face, he thought about the possible consequences of the actions he was about to take. To what extremes would House go to in an attempt to win him back? The last few months had been blissful and he wouldn't trade them for the world but things were falling apart. For the first time he caught himself thinking that maybe his transfer to Pennsylvania hadn't been such a bad idea. Now he was going to be stuck working in a hospital with a man who held the key to his heart. The tension between them…what would it prompt House to do?

He was maybe a yard from House's hospital room when he was stopped by a young nurse. She blushed, smiling shyly.

"Dr. Wilson, how lucky of me to have run into you like this," she spoke, holding up a folder. "I was going to run this up to Cuddy but…I'm sure I can give this to you." She handed him the file, smiled like a teenager in love and walked away.

Wilson frowned, wondering if she'd been flirting with him. Then he looked down at the file and noticed that House's name was scrawled on the tab. He quickly flipped the folder open and scanned the papers inside; they held a wealth of information. Closing his eyes he tried to gather his thoughts. He had been heading toward his lover to break his heart and now he was thinking that maybe he would use House's being laid up to his advantage. He stormed into House's room.

The doctor looked over at him with those pale blue eyes that usually swept him away. He advert his gaze, not wanting to get swept away again. "We need to talk."

"Hello, nice to see you too, Wilson," House remarked dryly. "I've only been waiting for the last few hours."

Wilson held up the folder. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" House asked.

"About the essential thrombocytopenia?" Wilson questioned.

Shifting in the bed, House said, "Because it doesn't matter, Wilson. The doctor has already informed me that the problem has rectified itself. Nothing to worry about."

"You couldn't even tell me you were sick," Wilson said, his voice a bit louder than he'd meant it to be but he was mad that House had kept something important from him. "How are you and I supposed to be a couple when you aren't even willing to share your health problems with me?"

"Maybe I didn't want to worry you since you're already sick," House fired back. "What is this really about, Wilson? I know you didn't come in here to yell at me for keeping this from you."

Wilson dropped the file on the foot of the bed. He had come down here to tell House that they were over but now he wasn't entirely sure that he had the courage. Finding out that House had been sick was a blessing in disguise; it allowed him a chance to walk into the room angry and upset. But that had been a short-lived opportunity. Now he was going to have to hash things out, get everything off his mind. He placed his hands on the footboard, leaning forward.

"Why did you lie to me about Jacob, House?" he said out of the blue. The thought had barely crossed his mind before he found himself voicing it.

House frowned at him, sipping from the cup of water that had been on the bedside table. "I didn't lie."

"Yes, you did," protested Wilson. "I did a bit of research, House. There was never a car accident, no deaths. That was all some story that you made up to pacify my curiosity. You know, for someone that claims to love me you keep an awful lot of stuff hidden."

"Everyone has secrets," House said.

"And everyone lies," Wilson remarked. He walked around the side of the bed and took House's hand. He sighed. "I'm sorry."

That was all he said before he turned and left the room. He'd been prepared to get into a heated argument with House over Jacob but his heart wasn't in it. He was tired from his treatment and heart broken over the whole thing. He still loved House very much but things weren't going to work out between them if House couldn't trust him. And he didn't want House to fall head over heals in love with him because he wasn't so sure he could beat the cancer.

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Cuddy walked into the room a few minutes later, a cup of coffee in one hand and a bottle of Vicadin in the other. She had been prepared to tell House that he had a patient, one that she was going to allow him to treat from his hospital bed but when she saw the look on his face she knew that something had happened. The file at the foot of his bed caught her eye but she ignored it, wrapping her hands around the warm cup.

"Something wrong, House?"

Her friend looked up at her with troubled eyes. "He left."

She closed her eyes momentarily. Those were the only two words that she needed to hear to understand what had happened. Wilson finally came to see him. However, he wasn't aware that she already knew of Wilson's plan so she had to play dumb. "I'm sorry; I don't think I understand…"

"You knew," House said. "The way you reacted, you knew."

"I'm sorry, House. I-"

"It doesn't matter."

She settled on the edge of the bed. "Things are just really screwed up right now, what with him having cancer and you being in the car accident. He needs time to think, to get his feet back on solid ground. Give him time, he'll be back in your arms before you know."

House, who had held a fisted hand to his chest, let his fingers slowly uncurl so that Cuddy could see the metal band resting on his palm. "He left."

"I'm sorry, House," she said again, sounding somewhat like a broken record. She knew what she was about to say was inappropriate but the words had to come out, he deserved to know. She cleared her throat. "You never told him about Jacob."

"So?"

"It bothered him, House," she said, not looking at him. She couldn't. "The fact that you would never confess how you knew Jacob, why you hated him so much."

House was quiet for a moment before he spoke, his voice nearly a whisper. "He hurt me. One night…there was alcohol, he was drunk…he hurt me."

Closing her eyes Cuddy let out a sigh. Now she understood so much more about her friend but it wasn't very comforting. She wanted to ask him more, to have him elaborate, to say it out loud instead of leaving it hidden behind subtext. But she saw no reason to make him relive a terrible moment in his past while he was trying to deal with the fact of Wilson walking away. She wanted to give him comfort, only she didn't know how. She whipped away a tear that ran down her cheek.

---------------------------------------------------

Cameron walked into the locker room to get her personal belongings so that she could head home for the night. She had already looked over the new patient and was pretty sure the guy would make it through the night without any problems. And if all else failed she would be getting a late night call from House telling her to get her ass back to the hospital. She loved her job but she was tired from all that had been going on between her and Chase. She was deeply worried about him. Ever since he'd gotten sick he seemed like a different person. He spent more and more time brooding in silence the way that House did instead of talking to her about what was on his mind. He rarely held her anymore. And try as she might, she couldn't get those accusing words out of her head. It had been weeks since he had brought up her feelings for House, feelings that weren't there anymore. But not matter how many times she tried to tell him that she no longer loved House that way her words fell on deaf ears. He just didn't seem to be listening.

Sighing as she slipped out of her white coat, she pulled open the door of her locker only to have a white envelope float to the floor. Distracted, she shoved the coat into the metal locker instead of hanging it on the hook like she usually did. She bent down to pick up the envelope that bore her name. Her name was written across the front of it in beautiful flowing cursive. She knew for a fact that it had come from Chase. She would recognize his handwriting anywhere.

Her heart began to beat faster.

She tore open the envelope and pulled out a small piece of notebook paper. She read in silence. Then fell to the floor as the tears began to fall from her eyes.

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Foreman had just stepped out of the hospital, having bid Cameron farewell. He slipped on a pair of leather gloves as he headed for his car amongst the sea of automobiles in the parking lot. He had plans to read a medical journal while eating a bowl of warm chicken noodle soup before calling it quits for the night. His bed was calling out to him. The day had been long and trying. He stepped off the curb, walked across the parking lot making sure that he didn't accidentally slip on black ice. Looking up at the sky he figured that there were another couple of inches of snow on the way. He didn't much care for the winter months because people were more susceptible to illnesses and that made his job busier. Stepping over a pile of slush he pulled his keys out of his pocket, his car in sight.

"Eric Foreman?" a voice called out of the darkness.

He turned and looked back over his shoulder, frowning. There were two cops standing in the middle of the aisle. "Yes? Is there something I can help you guys with?" His mind instantly went back to a few months ago when House had gotten in serious trouble. Was this in some way tied to that? He'd kept a watchful eye on his prescription pad, not that he really needed to since Cuddy was readily supplying House with his medication.

The cops walked toward him. One of them pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "I'm afraid that you'll need to put your hands behind your back and come with us."

"What? What for?"

"You're under arrest, Mr. Foreman," the other officer said.

"It's Dr. Foreman," he corrected somewhat angrily. "And I'd like to know what the charges are."

"We'll start with breaking and entering," the one officer said as he slipped the metal bracelets around Foreman's wrists.


	51. Someday

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Disclaimer: **Angst, slash, and language.

**Author note: Welcome to Part Two!

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Chapter Fifty-One: Someday 

_A month later…_

"So when's the court date?" Cuddy asked Foreman as she wrote something in the file of a patient.

"In a week," he remarked with a frown, the anger clear in his voice. "I can't believe that this happening to me. If he wasn't so crippled I'd be kicking House's ass."

"And he'd still win," answered Cuddy, ignoring his temper. "Look just say that you had consent."

"You want me to lie? After taking an oath to speak the truth and nothing but the truth?"

She shrugged, handling the file over to a nurse behind the counter. "What else can you do?"

"Blame it on House," he said. "It is his fault after all."

They started walking down the hall in the direction of her office. "Foreman, he didn't force you to break into the houses. He told you to but he didn't drive you there and make you do it. Plus, the last thing that House needs right now is to deal with the cops."

"Just feed me to the dogs," he muttered as they parted company. He headed toward the elevator, pushing the button to go up. While he waited he thought about how much things in had changed in the hospital in just a month. For one thing he'd been arrested, charged with breaking and entering. One of the patient's they had treated a while ago had been dismayed and angered to learn that someone had been in his house while he was gone. He checked around with his neighbors and learned that it was Foreman that had done the job so he pressed charges. At the moment he was the only former patient pressing charges but if the story hit the news there was little doubt in his mind that there would be more people. He was fucked. There was no way that he could get out of this and still keep his job.

The elevator came, the doors opening, and he stepped inside with a handful of other doctors. He wondered what they were thinking about. Were they thinking about his upcoming court case? Or did they spend their time thinking about Cameron and Chase? For a month now Cameron had been sullen and very unlike herself. He figured it had to do with the note that Chase left her. Of course, it didn't help that nobody knew where the Aussie had gotten to. He didn't return his calls and his apartment remained locked tight. For all they knew he could be dead somewhere. Cuddy was adamant in leaving voice mail telling him that if he didn't return in another month that he should start looking for a new job. To say that she was displeased with him would have been an understatement. He knew that she would put up with a lot, after all she hired House, but the fact that Chase just up and left really pissed her off.

Stepping off the elevator he headed down the hall toward House's office. His beeper had gone a few minutes ago so he figured that meant they had a new patient. Things had been pretty slack lately, for that reason he found himself looking forward to the case at hand. When he got to the room he found Cameron tapping a pen on the table, staring off into space. House was nowhere in sight.

After taking a seat he asked her, "Where is he this time?"

She shrugged. "No clue. Last time I saw him he was sitting outside."

"But I got paged…"

"So did I."

And that was the end of the conversation. For the next ten minutes they sat in complete silence as they watched it snow for the umpteenth time that day. The city had been blanketed in white for weeks now and according to the man on the weather channel there was no end in sight. Foreman last heard that the city had two feet of snow.

The door opened and in walked House looking worse for the wear. His limp was more pronounced but that might have had something to do with the leg brace he was forced to wear. Foreman remembered how much of a fight House put up when he learned he was going to have to wear it. That was a battle that Cuddy won in the long run. The brace kept his leg straight and offered additional support, the accident having done a number on his bum leg. His clothes were wrinkly, his hair a mess, and as usual he had a five-o-clock shadow. Foreman prayed that today House wouldn't be grumpy but he knew that it would be a cold day in hell before that happened.

"Do we have a patient because if not I'd like to get back to helping out in the clinic," Foreman spoke.

House regarded him with blue eyes that had lost a lot of their spark. "Yes, we have a patient."

"Symptoms?" inquired Cameron.

"She came in complaining about chronic diarrhea, fatigue, and nausea," House said. "Go take a blood test and ask her a whole shit load of questions. I'll be in my office." And that's exactly where he went, locking the door behind him.

Foreman looked at Cameron, who was still staring into space, and grabbed the file before leaving the room. It looked like he was going to be flying solo on this one for the most part. As he headed toward the patient's room he passed by Wilson's office. The door was closed but he knew that the oncologist was inside. A month had passed since he'd broken House's heart. That was the time Foreman decided that everything began to fall apart. It was like the universe was mad. He thought about knocking on the door and having a word with Wilson, ask him why he'd given back House's ring but that wasn't really any of his business. He continued toward the patient's room, hoping that someday real soon everything would go back to normal.


	52. These Broken Hearts

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Caution: **Angst, slash, and language.

**

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**Chapter Fifty-Two: These Broken Hearts**

Wilson slipped the folder into the filing cabinet amongst the others. One more patient that felt the world was punishing them for something they didn't do. For the umpteenth time he questioned himself on why he bothered to do this job. Day after day it was more and more depressing. Though medical research had proven to heighten the odds of beating cancer less and less people were getting the tests that they needed. Or they brushed away the symptoms thinking that it was something less serious until it was too late. His latest patient had just been diagnosed with stage three colon cancer. This time, though, the late diagnosis had not been the patient's fault. It had been the lack of knowledge his previous doctors had. Now it had fallen on Wilson tell the guy what his chances were, and they weren't exactly the best. Surgery looked to be the best place to start, removing the cancerous lump. He also needed to check and see if it had spread anywhere else.

As he sat back down at his desk his mind instantly went to his own battle with the deadly disease. He felt better with each passing day. The fact that he was less nauseous, less tired gave him hope that he would win the battle in the end. But in the back of his mind was this nagging voice that kept telling him that anything could happen, that the disease could take an unexpected turn for the worse. As if to confirm it he covered his mouth as a cough came over him. When he pulled his hand away there was a trace of blood across his palm. He quickly wiped it away with a tissue; which he disposed of in the trash can beside his desk. Then he grabbed his keys and headed out of his office, locking the door behind him. The sun had set two hours ago and he was ready to get out of the hospital.

Not that the place he headed to was any better than the sterile building he worked in.

The hotel he stayed in was anything but a home. It provided him with a bed, a place to shower, a quiet place to think. But beyond that it was little more. As he walked down the hallway he passed by House's office. The blinds were drawn and the lights were clearly off. He knew that it didn't mean anything. House could be inside the confines of his office while the others went home for the night. His pace slowed, hoping that by chance House would came out. Though he'd been the one to call things off he found himself thinking that it was wrong. There were moments during his day when he felt an overwhelming urge to run to his former lover and tell him everything, confess what a stupid idea it had been to break things off. Only he never gave in.

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that House wasn't talking to him

All this time had passed without a single word between them. It was almost like the diagnostician was avoiding him. And really, who could blame him? What he had done was terrible. One minute he was asking House to get married and the next he was pushing him away. Try as he might he couldn't convince himself that it was the right thing to do. He'd messed up and now he couldn't even tell the one person that mattered. With his head down he stepped onto the elevator.

-----------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, inside his office, House was holding his breath. He'd been standing near the blinds when he saw Wilson. Every night for the last couple of weeks the same scenario played out. And every night he made sure that he witnessed it. But things were about to change. No longer content with lurking in his office, and knowing that Wilson locked his door, House planned to break-in through the door that led to the balcony. He had been going out of his way to avoid the oncologist for weeks now, mainly because he knew if they spoke nothing good would come of it. Resting in his heart beside the love that still remained was a burning anger that fought to break free. It was only a matter of time before the two of them did run into one another and heated words were exchanged. He planned to draw it out as long as possible. In the meantime, he was desperately missing the man that he'd fallen so madly in love with. And that is why he planned to get into Wilson's office. He wanted to be near him, to smell his aftershave and to touch the things he touched. As he walked out onto his own balcony he realized that he was just a touch obsessed.

But who could blame him?

Getting into Wilson's office proved to be easier than he expected. Wilson had left the balcony door unlocked. There was a good chance that he did it every night in the hopes of House wanting in. Their's had always been an odd relationship. Pushing open the door he walked into the darkened office and headed straight for the desk. He sat in Wilson's chair, feeling a warmth come over him. In his mind he replayed a few of his favorite moments spent in this office, wondering if he would ever get the chance to add more or if it was really over between them. He flipped on the lamp resting atop the desk. Its light gave the room an eerie glow that didn't feel comforting or warming. The feeling that he'd had a minute ago was gone. Now he felt awkward, unwelcome. Before pushing away from the desk he reached into his pocket and withdrew a ring. He'd been carrying both of them around in his pocket since the day…

He placed the ring on the desk top where Wilson was sure to see it.

As he stood something in the trashcan caught his eye. Bending down he pulled out a tissue that had traces of blood on it. He'd been unable to gain access to Wilson's health records. But maybe now, with this tissue, he could find out just how bad the cancer was. He stuffed the tissue in his pocket and flipped off the desk lamp before slipping back out onto the balcony. He took his time, not looking forward to returning home to sleep in an empty bed.


	53. We Had it All

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Caution: **Language, slash and angst.

**

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**Chapter Fifty-Three: We Had it All**

The next day started out with a meeting of the minds. Cameron was finally coming back to herself having either gotten over the fact that Chase was gone or just ignoring his absence. Foreman was happy to see that someone was finally behaving themselves. He just hoped that she would have enough in her to challenge House if the need arose. Outside the snow had finally stopped falling. But judging by the thickness of the clouds covering the sky he knew that it was only a matter of time before it returned. The wait for summer was getting harder and harder for him. He was so sick of the snow, as he was sure were the rest of the people in the city. At least the little reprieve gave them time to take care of the roads before more fell.

Five minutes after the top of the hour House limped into the room and went straight for the coffee pot. They sat quietly while he poured himself some of the warm liquid, mixing it the way he liked. After taking a sip he turned and went to the white board. He looked over the symptoms. Then turned to them. "So how's the patient?"

"Blood tests came back normal but his pressure is down," spoke Cameron, her voice surprisingly strong despite the mood she'd been in the last few days.

"He's starting to present signs of slow movement," Foreman put in, looking down at the file spread on the table top.

"Get a urine sample and run the blood again," House ordered.

Neither one of them objected, gathering their things and leaving the room. He watched them go, somewhat dismayed that they hadn't argued with him. He was beginning to think that he actually missed Chase. Someone had to start disagreeing with him sooner rather than later or he was going to lose his mind. Maybe he could think up some bizarre and crazy test to run on the patient. That would at least get Cuddy's blood boiling. Smiling at the possibility of inconveniencing his boss he headed into his office to think of the perfect way to do it. He had just set his coffee down upon his desk and rested his cane beside it when the door to his office burst open. To his surprise he found Wilson standing there, not moving any further into the room.

"Good morning, Dr. Wilson," he said somewhat professionally, pulling out his chair to sit. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You know full well why I'm here, House," Wilson said. He still didn't make a move to walk further into the office.

House looked at him. "Do I?" He winced as a dark cloud passed over Wilson's face.

"I went into my office this morning, like every morning," he said. "But unlike a usual morning I found something on my desk. Now I know that you were the one to put it there. What I don't know is why?"

House shrugged. "Because I could."

"House," Wilson growled. He was angry enough to cross the room and place the ring before House on the desk. "I don't want to do this. I don't have _time_ to do this. Please, just…"

Before Wilson could pull his hand away House grabbed him by the wrist, standing. He excreted enough pressure on Wilson's wrist that the oncologist was forced to look at him. "You never gave me a valid reason for breaking it off, James. I at least deserve that, don't you think? After all, you were the one that brought up the subject of getting married. You don't honestly expect me to believe that any feelings you had for me are completely gone. It doesn't work like that."

"Let me go, House," was all that Wilson said.

"No, not until you tell me what I want to know."

"Why?" Wilson asked in anger. "No matter what I tell you, you won't be satisfied. That's the problem with you. Nothing anyone does is good enough for you. I could give you every reason under the sun and you'd still demand more. Forget it, House."

House tightened his grip. "We had everything, Wilson. What could have possibly happened that made you decide to let it all go? And don't give me that bullshit about keeping things from you. There's more to it than that. Why don't you just come clean?"

Wilson looked House in the eye, taking the risk of getting swept away in them. "You are hurting me. Let me go."

There was a knock at the door and a second later Cameron walked in. She stopped when she saw the two doctors standing their. But before she could say anything House let go of Wilson's wrist. Before Wilson could leave, though, House said one more thing. "I would have said yes." He knew that Wilson heard him but the oncologist headed out the door without missing a beat. "What?" he barked at Cameron.

She actually jumped at the tone of his voice. "I actually wanted to talk to Wilson."

"Why? The patient isn't his problem, he's ours."

"I had the blood tested again. There's a problem with our patient's white cell count," she told him. "I just figured…"

House waved her off, knowing that she'd have a word with Wilson anyway. Once she was gone he fell back into his chair. If he thought his heart was broken before it hurt even more now. He played his ace and didn't even get a response from Wilson. What could he have possibly done to drive away the man he loved? What thing was so bad that Wilson would just shut off his feelings and never look back? House looked at the door as he tried to think of what he'd done wrong. Aside from not coming clean about a certain part of his past he found nothing that would drive them apart. Unless of course Wilson's battle was one he was losing. There was no way he would know until the tests came back. And they wouldn't be back for at least another hour. Until then he would have to find something that would occupy his mind. Pulling open his desk drawer he reached into retrieve the scalpel that he'd hidden there a month or so ago. He'd felt no real reason to use one when he was with Wilson. But it was looking more and more likely that that part of his life was over. He placed the blade against his skin and put as much pressure behind it as he could muster, slicing through the skin.


	54. Real Mean Bottle

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Caution: **Angst, slash and language. Self harm.

**

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**Chapter Fifty-Four: Real Mean Bottle**

He looked at the recent cut on his arm, an ugly reminder of how his day had gone. The line marred the skin, left a line that would eventually scar but he wasn't worried about that. He knew how to treat cuts so that the scars were minimal, even non-existent. Not that it really mattered all that much. Nobody was going to be seeing him without his clothing on so he was free to cut wherever he wanted, free to do whatever he wanted to himself. And that was probably why he was going to do something drastic. He'd done something like it before and the results had nearly killed him. Nearly. Maybe this time he would get lucky and there would be no waking up. How could he have let things get so far? How could he fall in love with Wilson when after Stacy he'd promised never to give his heart away again? Now everything was ruined, there would be no fixing it. For reasons he couldn't understand his lover didn't want him anymore. One minute he was thinking about getting married and the next he was trying to find away to get rid of the pain.

Why had Wilson decided to let him go? What had he done? Try as he might to understand the oncologist's choice he was unable to find any reasoning. Something must have happened between the accident and the time he awoke in the hospital. It wasn't the cancer, House knew that. The test had come back just before he left the hospital earlier that day. Wilson was actually doing well, his cancer looking as though it might go into remission. So why was he pushing House aside? They were both going to be okay. They would have been able to lead a wonderful life together but…

He sighed, bouncing the end of his cane off the carpeted floor of his living room. At one point it had been _their_ living room. He hated looking around the apartment and remembering all the happier times. That's why he found himself sitting in the dark, the only light the glow of a streetlamp coming through the window. The door behind him was unlocked. There was still a part of him that hoped Wilson would change his mind and rush over to draw House into his embrace, covering him with kisses and apologizing for what an idiot he'd been. But the more rational part of House knew that such a thing never happened; only in movies and television shows. His life was neither.

In his left hand he held a small prescription bottle. The Vicodin inside had been prescribed by one Lisa Cuddy, his boss. In the last week or so she'd been overly kind to him. He knew that it was because she felt bad and wanted to keep him from doing something stupid or drastic. But her love and attention was not what he wanted. He wanted Wilson, only Wilson. Closing his eyes he left his thumb draw little circles over the white cap of the orange bottle. The bottle was nearly full, three pills missing. He wanted to down all of them. Maybe the entire bottle would be enough to take away his physical and emotional pain, numb him to the world. As a doctor he knew the risks of overdosing on medication, especially on Vicodin. There would be the slow breathing, spells of dizziness, tiredness, and confusion. He ran the risk of seizures, coma and even death.

But none of it mattered to him.

He'd lost the one person that meant everything to him. And the worst part was being able to see that person day in and day out. It was hard for him to work so close to the man he loved knowing that he could never hold him close again. He popped the top off the bottle and heard it fall to the ground in the silence of the apartment. Without wasting time on a second thought he brought the bottle to his lips and opened his mouth, feeling the tiny white pills pass over his tongue. When the bottle was empty he let it fall from his hand where it came to rest on the floor at his feet.

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Chase bounced on the balls of his feet, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to heat them. He walked up the stairs of the apartment building and opened the door, wondering what the hell he was doing. That same thought had been at the forefront of his mind for the last month or so now. He'd left the hospital on a spur of the moment. The fact that he could lose his job didn't bother him and though he knew he was hurting his friends he found that he didn't care. No, he _did_ care but he realized leaving was something that he had to do. He needed to get out and away, to be able to think clearly without their influence.

He'd gone away to escape them.

And now he found himself standing in front of House's apartment door, wondering if he should knock or just walk away. He didn't want to bother House or Wilson but…

He knocked, regretting it almost instantly. Looking back toward the building's entrance thinking that it might be fun to just leave again. Maybe he wasn't ready to be home. Maybe…

But he found himself knocking again. To his surprise this time, under the force of his knock, the door swung open. The apartment inside was dark. He stood, listening, hearing nothing. "House?" he called out. Where was the doctor? He'd been by the hospital and saw Wilson's car in the parking lot but House's bike was parked out front the apartment building. "House, can we talk? Are you even home?"

He stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him. After a moment he was able to find the light switch on the wall. The room filled with light. That's when he saw House on the floor, unconscious. He dropped his bag and crossed the floor to his boss, falling to his knees on the carpet. The first thing he did was check for a pulse; which he thankfully found. Then he tried to awaken the fallen doctor, calling his name. Nothing seemed to work, at first. As he fumbled around the room he noticed the orange bottle, the culprit. He fought back the anger that was quickly building within knowing that it wouldn't do any good. He had to help House. He couldn't let his mentor, his friend pass away.

--------------------------------------------

House leaned against the wall, a case of the chills making him feel cold even though he was fully dressed and covered in a thick blanket. Maybe the tile floor was keeping him from feeling the warmth he sought. The doctor within knew that it wasn't the floor. His body was reacting to the medication that he'd downed some time ago. At least his leg, which was stretched across the bathroom floor, didn't hurt anymore. Hell, he couldn't even feel it. In a few hours the pain would return, though, it always did. He let his gaze wander around the dimly lit room until his eyes fell upon Chase, who was sitting on the counter. Where had the damn Aussie come from and why had he helped him? Why couldn't he just let him die?

The two of them had been sitting in the bathroom for close to an hour now without saying a word. House was pretty sure that his stomach was empty, that most of the medication he'd downed was now somewhere in the sewers under the city.

Chase cleared his throat, drawing House's attention back to him. "I take it all is not well in paradise?"

"There is no paradise," House remarked with a smirk. "Maybe there never was."

"Why can't you just drink like a normal person?"

"Because alcohol doesn't solve anything," answered House.

"And downing an entire bottle of Vicodin does?"

House let his gaze wander again. "It wasn't full. There were three pills missing."

"That's beside the point, House," Chase said, his voice nearly a shout of anger. "Do you know what would have happened had I not come along when I did?"

"Yes," House snarled. "I wouldn't be in this damn world again. I'd be free of the pain in my leg and in my heart. I would no longer be a burden to the people around me." He paused for a moment as he fought the urge to throw up again. When it passed, taking his anger along, he said, "I would finally be free of Wilson."


	55. From Where I Stand

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Note: **Have I told you guys lately that you rock? As my year continues to go down the drain your reviews help make things a touch better.

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* * *

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**Chapter Fifty-Five: From Where I Stand**

Chase fiddled around with his cell phone, toying with the idea of whether or not he should call Cameron. Would she be pleased to hear his voice, to know that he was back in the city? Or would she just hang up on him the minute she realized it was him? He never could tell where he stood with her and now he was truly afraid to find out. It had been a dumb thing, leaving without really saying anything. The note he left her had been simple, straight to the point and without an explanation. He hadn't left because of her. For a while he thought he'd left because of House but now he knew that that train of thought was all wrong. If anything he'd come back _because_ of House. But why? His boss had never really been kind to him, even while trying to save his life a few months back. House liked to shoot down his ideas and never had a kind word so why did he care so much about the damaged doctor?

Because despite everything that House did he was a stand-up guy, he really did care about other people in his own twisted way. Chase wouldn't willingly admit it to anyone but he kind of looked up to House. He wanted to be as good a doctor as the other man. Unlike Foreman, who wanted so desperately to find another place to work, Chase was happy to work with House. He found himself learning a lot from him. And now, as he sat on the couch in House's apartment, he made a choice. House had fallen asleep nearly an hour ago. In that time Chase had gone through the apartment and removed bottles of pills stashed in some rather obscure places. Perhaps House shouldn't have taught him about breaking in and looking for the causes behind a person's illness. The bottles of medication were secure in his backpack, which he picked up on his way toward the door. It wouldn't do anybody any harm if he left House alone for an hour or so. After all the medication…the doctor would be sleeping for a while, his body trying to adjust to the last couple of hours.

The Aussie stepped out into the winter wonderland, intent on going to the hospital and having a word with a certain person.

---------------------------------

The first person he ran into when he got there was Cuddy. She'd been coming out of the clinic, her eyes trained on a folder. When she looked up at him it took her a second to register what she was seeing. He braced himself for the yelling and screaming on her part. After all, he'd left his job without saying anything to her. To his surprise she put the folder on the counter and walked over to him, hugging him.

"It's good to have you back," she said, letting him go.

"I couldn't have picked a better time…"

She arched an eyebrow. "Something up that I don't know about?"

"Same old thing," he replied. "I went by House's apartment…he's fine now but when I got there…" he just shook his head.

A dark cloud passed over Cuddy's features. "I was beginning to wonder how long it would take him. According to Cameron he and Wilson had an argument today. She wasn't sure what the whole thing was about but…"

"How is Cameron?" Chase asked, happy to change the subject for a few minutes.

"If you want to know how she's going to react," Cuddy said, "I can't tell you. For a while she was pretty distant, a bit withdrawn but lately, from what I've seen, she's back to her old self. But having you back, maybe we can figure out what to do about House and Wilson."

He headed toward the elevator. "I'm one step ahead of you," he called back over his shoulder.

He stepped onto the elevator with a few nurses and a doctor. Though he vaguely recognized them he did not know their names and they apparently did not know him. How anyone in the hospital could not possibly know the members of House's team was beyond him. Everyone in the state knew about Dr. House. Hell, people in other states, even other countries knew all about the eccentric doctor. He may not have had a good bedside manner but House was damn good at what he did. How many patients had they lost since he started working for House? Four or five? Such a small number, especially compared to how many walked out of the hospital after battling with the crippled doctor. The world needed House. This hospital needed House.

_Wilson_ needed House.

He walked toward the oncologists office, happy to note that Foreman and Cameron were nowhere in sight. He didn't want to get sidetracked, have to explain himself away to them when he was a man on a mission. Stopping outside the oncologist's office he knocked. He heard Wilson mumble a reply so he opened the door and stepped in, closing the door behind him. Without saying anything to Wilson, who looked genuinely surprised to see him, he walked over to the desk. Unzipping his backpack he upended it on the top of Wilson's desk, bottles of medication falling out and rolling around like crazy.

"What the hell…" exclaimed Wilson. One of the orange prescription bottles fell in his lap.

"I just came from House's apartment. These are all the bottles of medication he kept hidden throughout the place. I also found this," he said, pulling a scalpel out of his pocket. "I figured that if he didn't have these he wouldn't feel so inclined to try killing himself. Again."

Wilson's face fell, his eyes losing their light. "I was wondering how long it would take him."

Chase chose not to say anything, his silence conveying more than his words ever could.

"He hurt himself again," Wilson mused, not bothering to really look at Chase. "He always does. He's not well. Maybe he's never been well…I don't know. He…he's…damaged…unhappy…"

"From where I stand," Chase said, backing toward the door, "he's not the only one."


	56. Without You

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man**

* * *

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Chapter Fifty-Six: Without You 

It wasn't long before Chase ran into Cameron. He saw her coming before she saw him and there was a little voice inside his head that told him to run, to turn around and disappear. But that wouldn't solve anything. He wasn't House or Wilson. He wasn't going to ignore the problem. If she wanted to scream and yell at him than he would take it like a man. After all, he was the one that walked away without much an explanation; he deserved whatever she gave him. That's why he stood there, watching her walk down the hallway, her focus on the file in her hands. She looked so beautiful to him, her hair a shade somewhere between brown and blond, pulled back into a loose ponytail. He recalled how it had felt to run his fingers through her hair. She never looked up, bumping into him instead. The file dropped from her hands, paper scattering here and there. Without even looking at him she bent down to start picking them up, muttering her apologies for not watching where she was going.

"Cameron…" he said.

At the sound of his voice her hand stopped in midair. Slowly she looked up at him and the expression on her face was unreadable. He couldn't tell whether or not she was pissed at him or happy to have him back. He hoped that she would find common ground between the two. He smiled, unsure of what to say next, an awkward silence creeping between them. So he cleared his throat.

The sound seemed to bring her back to earth. "Chase…when did you get back?"

"Last night," he replied. Then was quick to explain. "I would have come to see you but I stopped by House's apartment to check on my job and found him passed out on the floor. He tried to overdose on his Vicodin…"

"So you've been by his side all night?" she asked, gathering up the last of the paperwork and shoving it back into the manila folder. She stood to look at him. He could have sworn that her eyes glistened with unshed tears. But for who?

"Yeah, I wanted to make sure that he'd pull through," he said. He rubbed a somewhat nervous hand across the back of his neck. "As you can imagine he wasn't too happy with me. I kind of figured all is not well in paradise….still."

She shook her head. "They don't even really talk to each other. Though I did walk in on an argument the other day."

"About?"

Cameron shrugged. "Not a clue. I needed to talk to Wilson, ask him about our patient because it looked like the guy might have cancer. Testing says otherwise but without House here…" she let the words die on her lips.

Before another awkward silence could begin he jumped to the topic. "I'm sorry that I left, Allison, without much of an explanation. I just…after the sickness and everything…I felt like I needed to get away, to clear my head…but I guess that's not really an excuse for how I treated you."

To his surprise she took hold of his wrist, her hand sliding down so that their fingers could entwine. "We'll talk about it later, tonight, dinner at me place. Right now I have to find Foreman and see if we can't figure out what the hell is wrong with this guy. If House doesn't come back…"

She went to walk around him but he held onto her hand. "It was no fun being without you," he said, kissing her on the cheek before he let her go. Then h e headed off toward the elevators, planning on going back to House's apartment to see if he could convince the diagnostician to come to the hospital and see his patient. It was like House to ignore a patient but not at all like him to ignore a puzzle. Things were getting bad at an alarming rate. And there was really no end in sight. He wondered how far House would fall before he got over Wilson. Then he wondered what had driven Wilson to break House's heart to begin with. As he got on the elevator he thought about the fact that the two of them weren't really talking. That didn't bode well for any of them. Wilson would be his usual cordial self but House…he'd be an ass in some way, shape or form. When he walked out of the hospital a few minutes later he'd already begun to formulate a plan to get the two doctors in a room together, one where he could lock the door.

----------------------------------------------------------------

It turned out that he didn't need to worry about a plan. When he got back to House's apartment he found that he wasn't the only one visiting the doctor. Wilson's car was parked along the curb outside the building. Though a bit apprehensive about the situation he quickly parked in the first free spot he could find and jogged back to the building. Outside the door of House's apartment he stopped, his hand raised to knock. What if they…he shook his head, a chill running down his spine. He almost turned to leave when he heard a raised voice. They were arguing again. He knocked and the door swung open a little. They hadn't even bothered to close it all the way so he stepped inside, closing it behind him. House was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Despite the added support of the brace on his leg he looked to be in considerable pain while upright. Standing behind the couch a few feet away was Wilson. They both looked at him.

"I'm leaving," Wilson said, turning to go.

Chase blocked the door. "Nobody is going anywhere. You two need to talk this out instead of doling out the silent treatment. You're going to drive the whole lot of us crazy…and that means work won't get done. Talk. Now."

Neither one of them said anything.

Chase sighed. "Wilson, why did you call things off? What made you give back the ring?"

Wilson looked back over his shoulder at House, who waited patiently to hear the answer. But Wilson didn't say anything.

"Pretend he's not here," Chase said. "Just talk to me. House isn't here…"

The oncologist still didn't say anything.

"Dammit. Does it have something to do with the day of the accident? Were the two of you arguing or something? Did House leave in a huff…?"

"No," House said, his voice somewhat gruff. "I went out to buy cheese because he was making omelets and wanted cheese."

All it took was that one simple statement for Chase to put the pieces together. "So you felt guilty, Wilson. He wouldn't have been at that stoplight if you hadn't sent him out for cheese. You blame his getting hurt on yourself." Watching Wilson's reaction told him that he was right on the money. Then he remembered something else that had happened, something that went down before House had awakened. "And the incident with the internal bleeding…that left you feeling guilty too."

"Why?" barked House, the confusion clear in his voice.

"Because I sat there day after day," Wilson finally spoke, his shoulders slumped. "I sat by your bedside and I never noticed the signs…you could have died. Because of me." Wilson turned to look at House. "Not once, but twice. I nearly killed you twice and…"

"Is that what this has been about?" asked House. He managed to limp toward Wilson, closing the distance between them. "You've been avoiding me like the plague because you felt guilty?"

By now Wilson was falling apart. There were tears running down his cheeks but he remained silent, only nodding his head in answer.

"You're an ass," House remarked.

"House!" Chase said, shocked.

"All this time I've been going through hell all because you felt guilty about something that wasn't your fault," House continued. "You are an ass, Wilson….but I still love you. That day, I _chose_ to get the cheese for you, and small bleeds, they're hard to detect."

Wilson didn't say anything; he just reached out, seemingly falling into House, wrapping him in an embrace. Though a little unsteady on his feet House returned the gesture, happy to feel Wilson's warmth once again. But as he held the man he loved he knew that it was going to be a while before things returned to where they'd once been. It was going to be a long road to heal their broken hearts.


	57. Two Hearts

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Seven: Two Hearts**

House settled on the couch as he listened to Wilson tinkering around in the kitchen. He knew that the oncologist was doing it to avoid talking. Everything was finally out in the open but that didn't make the past month go away. There were a lot of wounds in need of healing. There was a need for a major talk, neither one of them knew how to get the ball rolling, though. For once House actually wished that the Aussie doctor was still around. It was because of Chase that they'd been able to get their problems out. But he'd excused himself, muttering something about having to see someone. House wasn't the only one that had been in pain over the last few weeks because of the actions another person took.

He propped his leg up on the coffee table, wishing that he could take the brace off permanently. He wished that he could take back the day of the accident so that none of this had happened. If he was one to believe in such a thing he would assume that it was divine intervention that caused that man to run the red light and hit his motorcycle. Maybe it was the universe's way of saying that they shouldn't be together, that he couldn't marry the man that actually made him feel happy in a world that usually left him feeling almost dead inside. He let his eyes go unfocused as he sat there, his arms crossed over his chest. Some people would say that things happened for a reason. Was there any truth to that? What reason had there been for him to be hit by a car and left in more pain than he'd been in before? What was the reasoning behind Wilson having cancer, other than the sheer irony of the situation?

The more he thought about it the more unsettled he became. The world around him was falling apart and for once he couldn't put the piece back in place to retain the normalcy. There were things going on between Cameron and Chase that he didn't quite understand. Something lurked, something changed, inside of the Aussie and he wasn't exactly the person that he'd been before; which actually kind of worried him. And then there were the problems with Foreman, arrested for breaking and entering. The amazing thing is that he wasn't blaming House for the charges. In fact, he hadn't even told his boss about the problems, it had been Cuddy that informed him of the charges filed against Foreman. Why hadn't the doctor said anything to him? It was completely out of character. The only person that didn't appear to be falling apart was Cuddy, but that could just mean that he hadn't noticed anything yet.

He'd been rather consumed by Wilson.

Unable to sleep in the empty bed in the quiet apartment.

Unable to get through the day without hurting himself to lessen the pain in his heart.

Unable to understand why his lover wanted nothing to do with him.

Now they were in the same apartment, just feet away from each other, and neither one of them had anything to say. Maybe the damage done was too much to repair. Perhaps the breakthrough he thought they'd experienced wasn't exactly all he hoped. Closing his eyes he let out a deep sigh, his mind going back to months ago when things were clearer, when they made sense; back to when everything was okay. He ignored the problems that threw them together, bypassed the transfer to another state, and just enjoyed the warm moments with the man he loved.

He felt the brush of a hand over his cheek. Opening his eyes he found Wilson kneeling on the floor in front of him, looking up at him. For a moment they gazed at one another, the silence between them nearly killing House. He wanted to reach out and take Wilson, to hold him and have him in ways that only the two of them knew. But he managed to restrain himself, not wanting to push away his lover now that he finally had him back. If he did indeed have him back.

"Wilson," he finally said, the name sounding foreign.

Wilson let his hand slide away. He turned his back on House, sitting on the floor and resting against the couch. "I don't…what…"

"Where do we go from here?"

"Yes…"

House shrugged even though he knew Wilson couldn't see him. "Beats me. If you'll recall I haven't exactly had the best of luck with relationships."

"Neither have I," said Wilson.

"I missed you," House said.

Wilson looked back over his shoulder. "I missed you too…but…"

"Shit happens, Wilson," he said. "We've already had this discussion. Nothing that happened to me was your fault. You don't see me blaming myself for your cancer…"

"If you could find a way you would," Wilson replied, the hint of a smile on his face. "Trust me, you would."

"Do you think there's hope for us yet…or….?"

Wilson moved from the floor to the couch. "There might yet be hope. I just…"

House didn't give him a chance to finish his sentence, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him close for a kiss. The feel of Wilson's lips on his sent shivers racing down his spine and sparked a fire deep inside of him. He could feel the quickening of his heartbeat as his mind registered the fact that this could be their last kiss unless...He felt Wilson scoot closer, a hand run through his hair. For once he felt hope but he was afraid that with every passing second the moment would end and he will once again be left not knowing where they stand. He felt the warmth of a hand on the small of his back and it sent a pleasant shiver coursing through his body.

On some mutual, unspoken agreement they began to move. It took a few minutes of stumbling around but seconds later they fell into bed together, the two of them hungry for one another. Damaged by what life had thrown at them they found comfort in each others arms. They enjoyed the caressing of hands, the trails left behind by hungry kisses. The outside world was swept away as they got blissfully lost in the love they shared, all the heartache from the past month only adding fuel to the fire, leaving them with a drive to prove how deep their love ran. A fevered kiss mended broken bridge between them and for a moment it was like they had never been apart to begin with, the two of them thirsting for a love lost.

After the last wave of pleasure, the sun having set some time ago, they slowly untangled. But House found that he was reluctant to completely let go of Wilson, holding him close for fear of waking up to find it was only a dream. Before too long Wilson drifted off to sleep, his already tired body exhausted by their love making. House realizes that he's content to lay in the dark, listening to the rhythmic breathing of the man he loves, feeling the beat of Wilson's heart under his hand. Eventually he's able to drift off to sleep himself, but he awakes with every passing hour to reassure himself that Wilson is still sound asleep in his arms.


	58. This Old Guitar and Me

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Eight: This Old Guitar and Me**

House settled on the couch with his guitar. It had been a while since he played the old thing. A couple of months ago he'd been spending a lot of time playing the piano that he kept near the big window that looked out on the street. He liked to tickle the ivories, to close his eyes and let the music take him places he never should have been. The music moved him, released him, let him pour out his grief and heartache without having to actually act like a human being. Then he got one of those electric guitars but he kept that at his office in the hospital. Just something else to play with when he was dodging Cuddy and clinic duty or trying to annoy the hell out of his ducklings. Today, he wanted to play, wanted to release the problems building inside, but he didn't feel like sitting at the piano.

So he pulled out his old guitar and settled on the couch with it. Another thing he hoped to achieve by playing was losing himself so that the hours would pass quicker. He should have been at the hospital since he had a patient to treat but he couldn't bring himself to leave the apartment. He would never admit to being afraid. He was House, he didn't get afraid. But there was something that kept him from leaving, kept him from going to the hospital. He'd talked with Cameron over the phone to let her know that he wasn't going to be in but that he could be reached if needed. For some reason she seemed to understand and that bugged him. How could she understand just by talking to him? Was there something in the tone of his voice that betrayed him?

He began to play the first few notes of a song that he normally wouldn't be caught dead listening to. Not because he was ashamed of it but because he had a reputation to uphold and this song…it didn't go with who he was but deep down it had always been a favorite of his; one of those guilty pleasures that he kept from everyone, even Wilson. Like always, when he played, he closed his eyes and let the music flow, let his fingers pluck the strings like they had millions of times before. With his eyes closed, the music washing through the apartment he thought about the lyrics. He saw them floating through his mind…

_I still believe in you, with a love that will always be standing so strong and true. Baby I will always believe in you and me…_

When the song came to end, which all great songs do, he started the next one, not even bothering to glance at the clock because he knew that it wouldn't get him anywhere. Maybe only three minutes had passed and that wasn't nearly enough time. This time around he started playing something longer, something not quite so innocent. Eight minutes of guitar, no words. He enjoyed the rhythm of the music, the way it flowed, the story it told even though there had been no lyrics written for it. Music didn't words to make sense, to get a message across.

He played, putting everything he had into it, playing song after song after song until his fingers began to hurt. When he began to think that he wasn't going to be able to play any longer he heard the key in the lock. His hand stopped, resting over the strings. He kept his eyes closed, listening to the beat of his heart and the silence. His mind afraid to hear the words…

Wilson stepped into the apartment, closing and locking the door behind him. House turned to look at him and without speaking he settled the guitar in its case and stood from the couch. This was the moment he'd been waiting all day for. All those hours of playing out his emotions and now he would have to face the music, so to speak. The next couple of words out of Wilson's mouth could make or break him.

"So?" House said, unable to stand the silence any longer. They'd been standing there staring at each other.

"I got the test done…"

"And?" House pushed. He could barely take it, waiting for the answer. Late that night they had had a rather serious discussion about Wilson's cancer. They decided that it was time to get a test done to see how things were progressing, to see if they were getting worse or better. House already knew that if things were worse they were going to up the treatments in hopes that it would make the cancer go away. He hoped that it wouldn't have to come to that. He didn't want to see the man he loved look so sick…so lost…so close to death. He still wasn't ready to lose Wilson.

Wilson smiled but House couldn't tell if it was a happy smile or a smile of sad reassurance. He held his breath, waiting.

"Well…there's good news and there's bad news…"

House could already feel the ground beneath his feet crumbling. "What's the good news?"

"The cancer is in remission," Wilson said with a wide smile, a twinkle in his eyes.

He was afraid to let himself feel happy… "The bad news?"

Wilson walked over to him and drew him into an embrace. "The bad news is that you're stuck with me."

"That doesn't sound so bad," he smiled.

Wilson kissed the nape of his neck. "Can we be bad…?"

House fought back the urge to laugh as Wilson's zest for life returned. He placed a finger under Wilson's chin and looked into the brown eyes of his lover before leaning in for a kiss. He cherished each kiss that they shared but this was something different. This kiss marked a new beginning, the mending of their relationship and the ending of the storm that loomed on the horizon. He wanted to spend the rest of the day with Wilson showing him how much loved him, how much the oncologist meant to him. But that wasn't going to be an option as his phone started to ring. He heard Wilson groan in disappointment and it only made House want him more, to turn that disappointing groan into one of pleasure. Reluctantly he broke away from his lover and retrieved his phone.

It was Cuddy.

He frowned, looking at Wilson, before answering it. He listened as Cuddy explained the situation at the hospital. Then assured her that he would be right there.


	59. In The Last Few Days

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Nine: In the Last Few Days**

Wilson refused to stay behind at the apartment, saying that he really needed to get in a few hours at that hospital to begin with. House didn't argue with him. He knew that Wilson was more a of doctor than him, the kind that actually cared about his patients and had a nice bedside manner. He also didn't want to risk Wilson losing his job. The hospital already put up with House, he didn't think they would be happy to have two insubordinate doctors on the staff. He drove down toward the hospital at a good speed but making sure that he didn't get them into an accident. That was the last thing they needed. He kept thinking about Cuddy's words, trying to make sense of the message. Something told him that he hadn't gotten the whole story over the phone which meant that whoever she was talking about had been within hearing. That bothered him. Cuddy wasn't usually one to keep things from him.

He parked Wilson's car in one of the handicap spots and was surprised to not hear protests from his lover. Usually Wilson would come up with some reason on why he shouldn't park in the reserved spot but today he got nothing. He wondered what it was all about. It would have to wait until later, however, since House knew that something that needed his attention was waiting for him just beyond the automatic doors. He limped toward the entrance of the hospital, avoiding the melting patch of ice. The sound of Wilson's shoes on the sidewalk told him that the oncologist was only a step or two behind. The nice thing would have been to wait for him to catch up, that wasn't exactly his style and Wilson knew it.

Breezing into the lobby of the hospital he was immediately aware that something was wrong. Cuddy waited for him by the counter, the look on her face one that he couldn't read. Wilson gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and a whispered 'I love you' before heading toward the elevators. For some reason he found himself happy to know that Wilson wasn't going to be around to hear whatever it was that Cuddy had to say.

His boss stopped before him, glancing quickly back over her shoulder before looking at him again. "This isn't easy for me to say…"

"Who the hell is here to see me?"

"House-"

He ignored her attempt to interrupt him. He knew from the tone of her voice that she wasn't ready to break the news to him and he wasn't going to play games. "If it's Jacob I'm going to have him arrested for harassment. Call hospital security and have him removed."

"It's not Jacob," she said.

That got his attention. "But you said it was someone from my past. My recent past…"

"I…" she clearly didn't know how to tell him who it was so House moved around her. He may have been slowed down by the cane but he'd gotten used to it and moved surprisingly fast. Whoever had come to see him would be waiting in her office. He could hear the sound of her heels on the tiled floor behind him as she followed him, keeping a certain distance between them. That sent a warning bell off in his brain. He wasn't going to like the person waiting for him.

And the early assumption proved to be right.

There were two people waiting in Cuddy's office when he walked through the door. She came in behind him and he heard the door lock so that they wouldn't have any interruptions. Sitting in one of the chairs facing her desk was Foreman, his hands clasped in his lap. The second person, the one from his past, leaned back against the wall off to the left side. He glared at the man, but managed to retain some of his composure, though all manner of thoughts were flying around inside his head.

"Detective Tritter…to what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked the gray-haired detective. He loathed Tritter. The man had gone out of his way to make House's life a living hell a couple months back. Because of the detective House's ability to do his job had been questioned. He ended up spending a short time behind bars but only because he'd been found in contempt of court. One could say that Tritter's case didn't exactly end the way that he wanted it to. That meant there would be a grudge of sorts.

Tritter smiled. "I just thought I would let you know that I've been assigned to work the case of Dr. Foreman. The breaking and entering charges that have been filed against him are pretty serious."

"They're bullshit," House remarked.

"Guys, keep it civil," Cuddy warned, knowing that it was pointless. She'd gone to stand beside Foreman.

"I have three people willing to press charges, and that's already on top of the one filed," Tritter pointed out. "Word through the grapevine is that the other two, Dr Cameron and Dr Chase, have also broken into homes. Fortunately for them there's no hard evidence, only the words of victims."

House leaned on his cane. "You couldn't get me convicted so now you're going to target the members of my team. Get yourself a girlfriend if you're so bored."

Unnervingly Tritter smiled. "Things don't look too good for your guy."

"If you had any hard evidence he'd be behind bars, not sitting in a chair two feet away from you," House retorted. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the bottle of Vicodin that he carried with him everywhere. He popped one of the pills.

"How many of those have you taken in the last few days?" Tritter asked with a shake of his head, his eyes dark. "People say that drug habits are the hardest to break…"

House glared at the detective. "I'm not a drug addict."

"So you've said. I still don't believe you."

"I still think you're a prick."

"House…"

There was a sudden knock at the door, drawing the attention of all four of them. Cameron stood on the other side of the glass door, a panicked expression on her face. Cuddy walked purposefully to the door, popping the lock and pulling it open. "What?"

"I just thought House would like to know that his patient's vitals are dropping," she said, her eyes only on the crippled doctor, ignoring the presence of the detective.


	60. Not a Moment Too Soon

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man**

* * *

**

Chapter Sixty: Not a Moment Too Soon 

House followed after Cameron as she led him in the direction of his patient, a person he couldn't even recall seeing. He'd been so wrapped up in his problems with Wilson that he'd completely forgotten the patient Cuddy assigned to him. What he didn't understand was why no one went about to remind him. Nobody had said anything to him until now. Sure, earlier in the day he had let Cameron know that he was available if needed, why hadn't she said anything then? Apparently they didn't understand what they were dealing with and that meant they needed his help. He could hear the others behind them; all three of them. He fought back the urge to turn around and ask the detective what he thought he was doing. There were more important things to deal with.

When they got to the patient's room he found a middle-aged woman lying on the hospital bed, unconscious. Chase stood to one side reading the monitors. Being the good doctor that he was House could easy tell that at one point the patient had crashed. Some nurses must have helped Chase bring her back. He ignored the detective, ignored all the others and just went about doing his job. He checked the patient's blood pressure; it was low. Checking the chart at the foot of the bed he read over the symptoms; fatigue, weakness, diarrhea, vomiting, craving of salt despite a loss of appetite. The list of symptoms helped to narrow the field of possible causes but he still needed more information.

"This the patient with the unusual white cell count?" he asked no one in particular.

"One and the same," Chase responded.

"Wilson said…?"

The answer came from Cameron. "Not cancer."

"Any other tests run?"

Foreman stepped away from the door, putting distance between himself and the detective. "Serum sodium is low and we tested her potassium levels; which went in the opposite direction."

House put the chart back on the bed. "So we have a craving for salt, low sodium but high potassium."

"Autoimmune?" suggested Cameron.

"Possibly," House remarked. He was about to order another round of tests when he noticed something unusual about the patient's skin. He frowned, leaving his cane leaning against the bed, and limped around to the side of the bed, pulling the blanket all the way down. Then he pulled back the collar of the hospital gown. "Did any of you happen to notice this?"

Everybody, including Tritter, leaned in for a closer look. The woman's chest was spotted, locations of the skin darker than other areas giving her the appearance that she had spots. House looked from Chase to Cameron and finally to Foreman. The three of them shook their heads. They hadn't noticed the oddly darkened pigmentation. He shook his head, letting the gown fall back into place and returning to the foot of the bed to grab his cane.

"Start her on corticosteroids with hydrocortisone shots," he ordered. "Then run tests for diabetes and hepatitis."

Cuddy asked the next question. "What's wrong with her?"

"Addison's Disease," answered House. "It's caused by the lack of hormones called cortex that are released by the adrenal glands. When functioning properly they help the body maintain glucose levels, decrease immune response and help the body deal with stress. It also balances the levels of sodium and potassium. Once you've started her on the medications I want you to figure out what the underlying cause is; what caused the damage to the adrenal glands?"

He left them with that question, done with the patient as much as he was done with Tritter. He returned to the safe silence of his office, locking the door to make sure that the detective couldn't follow him. The last thing he wanted to do was have a conversation with the man that nearly ruined his life. Months ago he'd been willing to do battle with the detective because he knew that he would win in the long run. The medication he took was to keep down the pain in his leg. It didn't hamper his life in any way; he paid his bills, he took care of himself, he kept patients alive. That's why the judge threw out the case. But that was the House of months ago. That was the House before the drug overdose, the car accident and Wilson's run-in with cancer. It was also before he'd nearly lost Chase. So much shit had hit the fan in the last couple of months that he wasn't sure he had it within him to go to war with the detective.

He sank into the chair behind his desk, swinging his legs up onto the desk top. What he needed to do was to think of a way to get the charges against Foreman dropped. And he knew that a good way of doing it would be to remind the people that without Foreman's help they surely would have died. That meant he had to get the names of the people that filed the charges. Could he even do that or was the information locked?

"Was that who I think it was out there in the hallway with Foreman?" Wilson asked. He'd come in through the door that led to their connecting balconies.

"The one and only."

"Don't tell me, he's in charge of Foreman's case…."

"Bingo."

Wilson let out a sigh, falling into one of the extra chairs in the office. "Damn. This is the last thing that this hospital needs. They're going to start pressuring Cuddy…" He massaged the back of his neck. "I know you too well. I can tell from the look on your face that you already have a plan and that I'm not going to like it. Out with it."

"How do you feel about breaking into police records?"

To say that Wilson was surprised would have been an understatement. "Tell me you're not serious. Of course you are, otherwise you wouldn't have brought it up. House…how…?"

"I'll find a way," House assured. "If anything, I'm resourceful. I'll find a way. You know that."

"Just don't get yourself arrested."

House smiled. "That's half the fun."


	61. Half a Chance

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-One: Half a Chance**

"Do you really think this is going to work?" Wilson felt prompted to ask as he sipped at his warm mug of coffee. He was sitting across the table from House, a look of worry etched in his features.

House didn't even glance at him. "Where there is a will there is a way, Wilson."

"You're crazy."

"That's one of the reasons you love me, admit it."

Wilson felt himself smiling. "Okay, so what if it is? That still doesn't make this a good idea. You are going to end up back in court and behind bars. And this time I don't think the judge will throw out the case."

"Smuggle my Vicodin in when you come for conjugal visits then," he replied.

"House."

The two of them had left the hospital at lunch time, slipping away hopefully unnoticed. After saving his patient and watching Detective Tritter leave without Foreman it was only a matter of time before the power trip set in; at least, that's how Wilson looked at it. And he was right. While sitting in House's office talking to him about the case against Foreman the diagnostician mentioned something about breaking into police records. There was a small part of Wilson that hoped he was kidding but he knew all along that once the idea was in House's headed there would be no going back. He counted himself lucky to convince House not to make that attempt from inside the hospital where it would instantly be traced back to him. So they left for a lunch out. A lunch that just so happened to be at a cyber café, complete with computers that had internet access.

As he sat there watching House type frantically at the computer he tried to figure out how his life would be altered when things went bad. He was sure that it was a _when_ and not so much of an _if._There was no way that House could pull this off. Last time he checked his lover didn't even know the first thing about hacking into a system. Of course, he hadn't thought House capable of electrocuting himself by sticking a switchblade into a light socket. That was one of those things that happened during the month the two of them were split. Wilson felt somewhat responsible for the whole situation. He should have been there to stop the man that he loved from doing something so stupid. Instead he'd been trying to push everyone away because of the guilt he felt. He had stopped by to check on House at one point while the doctor was unconscious. It had been hard to see him in a hospital bed once again and so soon after the accident. He was beginning to wonder if maybe his lover had a death wish…

"Ha, I'm in," House said all of a sudden.

"You have got to be kidding me," Wilson said with a roll of his eyes. He began to scoot his chair around but then thought better of it, not really wanting to have any part of this. "Be careful."

"Now I just need to find the work on Foreman's case…" mused House to himself.

Nervous, afraid that someone in the café would realize what they were doing, Wilson looked around. It wasn't like him to be paranoid but hacking into police records was a serious thing. He couldn't just sit idly by like House was looking at porn or something. Something like this could land the both of them in jail. Jail, just the thought of if made him shudder. The last thing he wanted to do was end up behind metal bars. One of these days it was going to happen, especially with all the crazy stuff that House got them into. It was amazing how much he was willing to put up with just to be with House. He would even go to jail for him. Now how crazy was that? He sipped his coffee.

"I won't make it in prison," he whined a bit.

"With your pretty face you're probably right."

"Thanks House, that's was real reassuring."

"Just stating the facts," the other man said, his eyes never leaving the screen in front of him.

"Maybe I can use my health as a way out…"

That got House's attention but only briefly. "The cancer is in remission. They'll keep an eye on you but still keep you in the basic prison population. Better get used to being somebody's butt buddy."

Wilson raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I already am…or did you forget already?"

House smiled, a twinkle in his eye. He continued to fish through the records, though, intent on finding out who had filed charges against the doctor on his team. How could someone be so callous? They did everything within their power to save these peoples' lives and then they just go out of their ungrateful little way to try putting one of them in jail? That ticked him off. Though the simple fact that Tritter had the case made it even more annoying to him. He beat the detective once and he was going to do it again. He refused to let that man ruin his life just because neither one of them could stand each other. Hell, he couldn't stand Foreman but here he was risking his freedom to make sure the other doctor didn't end up in jail. It was respect. Not that he would mention that to anyone, not even Wilson; who wouldn't let him forget it or live it down. He had to make this about him, keep them from realizing what his real intentions were. As far as anyone at the hospital knew he was just trying to piss off Tritter, not rescue Foreman.

"Hm…"

"Excuse me," Wilson said, pushing his chair back as he stood. House only half watched as his lover made his way to the bathroom located near the back of the café.

Without Wilson there to keep an eye on things that were going on he didn't notice the car that pulled up along the curb outside. He was too busy concentrating on the screen in front of him, waiting for the information he wanted to load but it was taking forever. He wandered if the suddenly slow server meant anything. Did it matter? As long as he got his information he didn't care how long it took. He was going to write down the names of the filers and then pay them a visit, talk them into dropping the charges.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up.

"Oh…hello officer."


	62. Livin The Way I Do

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Two: Livin' the Way I Do**

When Wilson came out of the bathroom the first thing he realized was the change of tone in conversation. The second thing he noticed was that House was no longer sitting at the table. His cane wasn't there which meant that…he sighed. Walking back toward the table he pulled out his wallet to pay the bill, trying not to think of all the times he'd been left to pay for something or how many times House conned him into paying for things. It was amazing that he loved the other doctor so much. When he got to the table he didn't even have a chance to sit down before the waitress was upon him.

"Your friend was arrested," she said.

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "It was only a matter of time…"

"He told me to tell you that he wants you to bail him out. Says he wasn't doing anything wrong," she said, chewing her piece of gum.

"He always says that," Wilson said as he handed her the money for the bill. As she walked away Wilson realized that he had a new problem. House had the keys to his car. He swore under his breath as he slipped on his jacket and headed outside. Looked like he was going to be taking a cab; which meant that he was out of more money.

----------------------------------------------------------

Unfortunately for House, Wilson's pager went off just when he found a cab. The hospital was calling and it looked to be an emergency. He sighed, mentally apologized to House and sent the cabbie to the hospital. House would understand.

-------------------------------------------------------------

When he got to the hospital he found Cameron and Cuddy talking near the sign-in counter, almost as though they were waiting for him. That didn't bode well. Did they already know that House had been arrested? He didn't really feel like explaining to either one of them why he'd let House hack into the police system. He was, after all, supposed to be the mature, sensible one between them. He should have said no, should have left House at the hospital. Sure, he would have hacked the system anyway but at least there would have been fair warning to the cops showing up to arrest him. There would also have been murder as Cuddy killed him for getting into trouble again. Wilson began to wonder if there was any way that he could plead ignorance. There had to be some lie out there that they would believe, something to keep him from getting into trouble…

Before he could think of one Cuddy noticed him. She came up to him at a brisk pace, his heart beat increasing with each step that she took.

"Wilson, you need to get up to your office. Now."

"Why?" he asked, frowning. This wasn't exactly what he'd been inspecting.

"One of your patients came in…"

"So?"

Cameron answered. "I checked your schedule and this guy doesn't have an appointment for another month. But he's up there ranting and raving. In your office. Foreman and Chase tried to get him out but…"

"Why not call hospital security?"

"I thought of that," Cuddy said. "And they are on standby but I thought maybe you would want to talk to the guy. He is one of your patients. Maybe you can talk some sense into him."

Wilson wanted to ask why she thought he could do that when he couldn't even talk sense into House, and he was sleeping with the diagnostician. Instead he just nodded and followed them toward the elevator. None of them said anything as they walked down the hallways. As they neared his office he noticed a sudden increase in doctors and nursing staff. This was something that he expected of one of House's patients, not one of his. He had a nice bedside manner and did his job the best that he could. He didn't always have the best news to share with his patients but that didn't make him the bad guy. He was the one that tried to make their lives longer, not shorter. Why would this guy be mad? Standing across the hall from his office were two uniformed guards with Chase and Foreman. Seeing the dark-skinned doctor only made him think of House. How was he going to explain this to his lover? And when would he get the chance to pay House's bail? He hoped that he could do it before someone down at the precinct called Cuddy. If she found out from a third party she would be livid. Maybe before he went to post the bail he would give her a heads up.

First he had to deal with the patient in his office.

Shrugging off the concerns of the others he knocked on the door and pushed it open. The man was pacing back and forth in front of the desk. Wilson was happy to note that nothing had been disturbed. Everything was in its place. He had been half expecting to find his office torn asunder. Maybe this was a good sign, a little hint that things weren't going to be as bad as he expected. Stepping fully into the office he closed the door behind him.

"Mr. Johnson…" he said to get the agitated man's attention.

His patient looked at him. "I'm not getting any better. I feel sicker and sicker with each passing day. It's getting harder and harder for me to do the things I like because I find myself short of breath. This…you have to do something."

Wilson recalled having diagnosed Mr. Johnson with lung cancer a few months back. The prognosis had been good since they caught it early and they started treating it aggressively. If anything the patient should have been feeling better, not worse. Unless… "Did you give up smoking like I told you to?"

Mr. Johnson laughed. "I've been smoking since I was thirteen. That's damn near forty years now."

"Do you really think smoking is such a good idea when you already have lung cancer? How are the chemo drugs supposed to help when-"

"When I live like I do?" The man laughed again. "I can't quit and the pain is too much. I want you to up my treatment."

"I can't," Wilson told him. He was starting to get a bad feeling about the situation.

All sense of humor left the man. "What do you mean that you can't? You're my fucking doctor!"

"You're already getting the highest doses allowed. Let's talk about ways we can break your addiction…"

"I don't want to break my addiction!"

"Mr. Johnson-"

The man pulled a knife out of his pocket and brandished it. "I want you to up my medication and make this disease go away. You're a doctor, that's what you're supposed to. Make it go away."

"I'm not a miracle worker."

Wilson barely had time to register what was happening. The man, his own patient, lunged at him with the knife. He moved to the side but it wasn't enough and the two of them started fighting. His day had been bad enough, the last thing he wanted to do was be stabbed by a man that was slowly killing himself for a few moments of pleasure a day. Someone outside must have heard the scuffle because the door was thrown open and people started shouting. It took a few minutes but between Foreman, Chase and the security guards they were able to break things up, dragging a screaming and kicking Mr. Johnson out into the hallway and toward the exit of the building. He leaned back against his desk trying to catch his breath as Cameron and Cuddy came into the room to check on him. He was still trying to get over the fact that one of his patients just tried to kill him. That was something he expected out of House's patients, not his.

"Wilson, you're bleeding," Cuddy said.

He looked down at his left hand to find that the knife had slashed across the palm. At least it was the only damage he could see. "Shit…" he mumbled, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pressing it to his hand to stop the bleeding. Before either of them could offer him assistance he was out of his office and in the elevator. There was somewhere else that he needed to be, bleeding or not.


	63. Sight for Sore Eyes

**Title: **Mending A Broken Man**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Three: Sight for Sore Eyes**

Wilson paid the cabby and headed into the precinct. He thought about how nice it would be for him to get his car back once he caught House out of jail. This day was starting to cost him more and more money with each passing hour. And all because he'd finally in love with a stubborn fool. After having a talk with the lady behind the counter he took a seat in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs that had been provided. The only other person sitting in them was dirty with a bald head and array of tattoos. Wilson felt a little ill at ease sitting hear the guy even though he knew he shouldn't be judging the man. After all, he was the doctor that had given his heart away to a man that lived to break rules and piss people off. He thanked his lucky stars that his glove covered the cut on his hand because he didn't want to explain to anyone how he'd gotten in. A doctor attacked by one of his own patients in his own office…he could already see the eyes rolling and hear the snickering.

He sighed. At least it hadn't gotten as bad as it did when House got shot by that maniac. Instead of fighting for his life he was just dealing with the burn of a cut across his palm. Nothing major about it. The longer he sat there in that chair, the more worried he got. He could still feel the slight warmth of the blood as it seeped from the wound and though it had slowed it hadn't completely stopped. That bothered him. What had he been thinking when he left the hospital without treating the cut? He was a doctor for crying out loud. He knew all about the risks of open wounds, the threat of an infection that could end up being deadly. But he remained where he sat, not bothering to say anything or let anyone know that he was hurt. He'd take care of it later.

Plus, he was concerned that he would run into Tritter. Seeing the detective would only be the icing on the cake, especially once he got wind of what House had been up to. Wilson couldn't think of anyway for them to get out of this one. Breaking into police records…how could House have been so crazy? How could he have let House actually do it? Of all the things that transpired between them, this was the one he wanted to take back. This time around it wasn't some detective hell bent on making a point. This was a serious matter and he didn't see a judge just throwing it out. Like it or not it looked like House was going to be spending time behind bars. For more than a few hours.

"Would you like to go back and see him?" a uniformed officer asked. "Or would you just like to pay his bail and be on your way?"

"I'd like to see him," Wilson said, standing. "I would like to have a word with him, if you don't mind."

"Not in the least."

He followed the uniformed officer down a hallway. Last time he'd been here he'd snuck House a bottle of Vicodin so that he could get his fix. Even then, before their relationship, he was bending over backward to please House. That's because he'd loved the damaged doctor for so long. His love for his best friend resulted in the ending of his last marriage and he didn't care. Now he was finally with the one person he didn't want to lose and the universe kept throwing them down the bumpy road. Though this time he had to admit that the problem could have been avoided. The uniformed officer said something to him but he didn't really catch the words, still, he nodded to say that he understood.

Then he was alone, standing before a holding cell where House rested on a cot.

"If you're sleeping I can come back later," Wilson said.

House grunted. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Emergency at the hospital, I'm sorry," he apologized. "And the fact that I had to wait for cabs; one to get me to the hospital and one to get me here…"

House opened his eyes and sat up. "So are you busting me out?"

Wilson thought about leaving him in their overnight but that meant sleeping by himself. Hadn't he done enough of that lately? "In a minute. Do you realize that you're in seriously deep shit now? And something tells me that Tritter is going to use this in his case against Foreman. Monkey see, monkey do."

"Just get me out of here," said House. "They took my cane. Can you believe they took a crippled man's cane?" House made sure to say the sentence rather loudly.

"Yes, actually, I can. They didn't want you in here causing a ruckus by banging it on the bars."

House smiled, easing off the cot. "At least they left me these," he said as he took the prescription bottle out of his pocket.

"That's interesting. Figured they would have taken them away."

"And give me reason to sue or make lots of noise?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

After paying House's bail the two of them rode in silence in the back of a cab to the cyber café. House actually paid the cabby before stepping onto the sidewalk and resting against the passenger door of the car. Wilson didn't say anything as he pushed the button to unlock the doors. The two of them wasted no time in slipping into the car. The interior may have been cold but at least it protected them from the driving wind. Wilson was beginning to hate winter. He put the key in the ignition, started the car. When he went to grip the steering wheel he winced in pain, the cut on his palm forgotten.

"Something wrong?"

"Nothing," he lied.

"Uh huh…" House reached over, invading Wilson's personal space like always, and grabbed him by the wrist. In the next minute he pulled off Wilson's glove to reveal the nasty cut. "Where…?"

"One of my patients must have confused me for you. He attacked me…though he chose to use a knife and not a gun; which I'm very grateful for."

"And you left the hospital without wrapping it in a bandage?"

"I had to rescue your sorry ass from jail," he replied.

"Which I appreciate but Wilson, you're not stupid. You know the risks and-"

"Can we not do this?"

"Do what?"

Wilson sighed. "Look, it's been a rather rough day. Can we just go home?"

"Okay. If that's what you want."

"It is what I want."

House buckled his seatbelt. "Drive, James."

"Funny…" Wilson remarked dryly as he switched on his blinker to pull into traffic.


	64. We Could Have Been

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Four: We Could Have Been**

Cameron and Chase were sitting at a table in the cafeteria at the hospital. They had managed to get one in the corner, far from everyone else. There really hadn't been much time for them to talk about their situation, whatever it was. He was afraid to find out where he stood with her, afraid that his leaving had closed the door for good on their relationship. The two of them had been sitting at the same table for a good fifteen minutes without a single word passing between them, except to comment on the food they were eating. He wasn't one hundred percent sure but that could be a bad sign. Then again, maybe neither one of them really knew what to say, how to start off the conversations.

So he picked a topic. "How do you think House is going to handle having Tritter around again?"

His question prompted Cameron to look at him. She'd been watching other people in the cafeteria, doctors and people visiting patients. She shrugged. "He'll probably find some way to get himself arrested or he'll get the case thrown out; which would just piss off Tritter even more. Either way, nothing looks good now that the good detective is back in the fold."

"Think we'll end up being charged?"

Again she shrugged. "Maybe. Wouldn't that just make Tritter's day?"

"Imagine how pissed House would be…He doesn't like to lose."

She smiled. "You know, in the beginning I thought it was wrong that House did what he did to the detective but after a while…idiot deserved what he got and whatever House dishes out this time, he deserves that too."

"Wonder if he'll cook up some plan with Wilson. Nobody ever suspects Wilson."

"That's true," she giggled slightly. "Who would ever suspect him of doing something devious? He's the doctor with good bedside manner, likes his patients and likes to help people. I mean, look at what he sacrificed the first time around, and they weren't a couple then." There was a twinkle in her eyes. "Something tells me that things at the hospital might be getting a little more interesting."

"I just hope that he won't let it cloud his judgment if we get a patient."

"He'll find a way to do both," she said with confidence.

Chase realized that there really wasn't anyway that he could segue into the topic he really wanted to discuss. They were supposed to have sort things out already but there had been bumps in the road and every time they tried to get together something came up. It looked like he was just going to have to come right out and say it. "Cameron, I want….can we talk about us? I mean, this isn't exactly the prefect place to have this conversation but who knows when we'll get the chance?"

She chewed thoughtfully on her French fry before answering him. "Okay. Start talking. I'm listening."

So he started talking, telling her the reasons behind his leaving and making sure to point out that it had nothing to do with her. He explained how while he was away she was never far from his mind, always on his thoughts. As he talked he was happy to note that she was listening to what he had to say. There had been a part of him afraid to admit the truth behind his leaving for the simple fact that she wouldn't listen, that she wouldn't care in the least. But he could tell that there was still something between them, that he wasn't the only one that hadn't yet given up on their relationship. Seeing that spark in her eye gave him the courage to keep talking, to pour out his heart to her. So he told her everything. From the visit with House to his trip up to the roof. He needed to find himself. He needed to know that this job was really what he wanted to do with his life. And it was. That's why he came back; for her and his job. This is where he belonged.

When he stopped talking Cameron didn't immediately say anything. She took a minute, sipping her water and washing down the food she had in her mouth. Then she finally spoke. "We could have…do you know where our relationship could have been by now, had you not left?"

Afraid to talk he just nodded.

She sighed. "I guess…"

"Guess what?" he asked when she didn't continue.

"We'll have to start over again."

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that night, when most of the city was asleep things began to happen. A patient was rushed into the hospital suffering from an illness that no one had been able to diagnose. Cuddy's cell phone woke her up, the voice on the other end one of the doctors that worked in the emergency room telling her that she was needed. Then the call went out to Foreman who had been tossing and turning, his thoughts consumed by the threat of what lay ahead. Chase and Cameron had been next, their phones going off at the same time. There was grumbling and swearing, the warmth of the covers thrown back. The last phone to actually ring was House's. It was resting on the bedside table, piercing the darkness with its annoying song.

Wilson groaned, a sound of unhappiness. When House picked up the phone he made sure that the person on the other end could hear his disdain at being interrupted in his off time. He listened, though somewhat unhappily, as the person on the other end told him that he was needed at the hospital. He tried not to pitch a fit as he hung up the phone, fighting the urge to chuck the damn thing across the room.

"You look tired," Wilson remarked, a smirk tugging at the corner's of his mouth.

"That's because you wouldn't let me get any sleep. Now I have to go to work and I look like hell."

"You always look like hell," Wilson told him.

"Thank you for those kind words." He kissed his lover.

Wilson pushed him away gently. "Unfortunately there's no time to finish what we started. You have to get your ass into the hospital. Go fool with this person's life and make them all better."

House grudgingly got out of bed. As he stumbled around in the dark he said, "I'd rather stay here and fool around with you."


	65. You Know Where To Find Me

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man**

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**Chapter Sixty-Five: You Know Where To Find Me**

House glared at Cuddy who was glaring at him. Only her glare was more of an I-can't-believe-you and his, well, his was just more of a glare of anger. He could not believe that she had grabbed him on the way through the lobby so that they could have a private chat. When he asked whether or not he really had a patient to attend to she told them he did, but that the patient would be fine with preliminary tests run by his team. She dragged him into her office and locked the door, like he couldn't just walk over to the door and undo the lock himself. What was she thinking? She took a seat behind her desk and he'd thought about getting up and leaving. What would it hurt? But something in the sound of her voice, in the anger in her eyes, made him stay. Though he would have given anything to be back home in his bed with Wilson.

"Can we get this started? I don't have all damn day, you know," he grumbled in usual fashion.

"I cannot believe…did you thin that I wouldn't find out?"

"Find out what?" he asked, trying to ignore the fact that the sun hadn't even come up yet.

"About your little trip to jail, House," she replied, nearly yelling. "Did you honestly think that you and Wilson could hide it from me? You're going to have to go to court. Again. And this time I don't think the judge will throw out the case. Breaking into police records…what the hell was Wilson thinking, letting you do that? I thought he was supposed to be the sensible one between the two of you."

"I didn't tell him what I was doing."

She rolled her eyes. "I find that highly unlikely since he was the one that bailed you out."

"Leave him out of this," House said.

"Oh, no can do. He may not be in trouble with the law but I'm going to have a word with him anyway. He is supposed to keep you from doing crazy and stupid things. House, you're going to lose your job if you keep this up," she warned him. "And there won't be a damned thing I can do about it."

"The hospital's reputation will suffer."

"It's already suffering," she said. "Do you know why none of your team members have gone looking for other jobs? Let me tell you, it's because no one else will hire them. I'm the only one crazy enough to keep you and your cohorts on staff and that's because you do good work. But the board of directors will only deal with so much. If you can't figure a way out of this one…"

He stood, leaning against his cane more than usual. He had been trying to get back into the habit of walking around without the damned brace on his leg. "Are we done here? I kind of have something more important I could be doing."

She dismissed him with a gesture of her hand, knowing that he probably hadn't heard a word that she said. It was just another day of dealing with House. She never could tell when he actually listened to her and on those rare occasions that he did he managed to twist what she said until it suited him. This time she was really worried, though, because he could very well lose his job. The members of the board were always looking for ways to get rid of the unruly doctor, even if he was damned good at his job. They were taking too much of a risk keeping him around for a longer period of time. They figured that it was only a matter of time before he brought the hospital down. As she watched him walk away she found that she'd begun to think along the same lines. How many doctors pissed off their patients to the point of driving a patient to shoot them? House had. He probably would again. And the more she went back over things the more she realized that Wilson was slipping. Was it because of his battle with cancer or was it the simple fact that House's influence was finally getting to him? She made a mental note to have a really good talk with the oncologist.

One House per hospital was more than enough.

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When he managed to get to his office he found the dream team already discussing the patient. He slipped into the room, ignoring the question that Cameron posed. She didn't need to know what he was doing that made him late. It was none of her business. And at the moment he didn't even really care himself. So what if he lost his job? Would it really be the end of the world? He'd have more time on his hands to play his piano and guitar. Maybe he would write some articles for medical journals. And he couldn't forget about Wilson. Unlike the oncologist who had set hours for seeing patients, House was on call all the damned time. That meant he could be out spending time with the person he loved just to have his time cut short because some poor sap got sick and some stupid doctor at another hospital couldn't figure out what was wrong.

Then again, he did so enjoy his job.

This morning he wasn't really into doing it, though. Cuddy was right. He was going to have to figure out how to get out of this mess. But was there any way that he could slip by? It wasn't going to be like last time if he went to court. Hacking into police records…He poured himself a cup of coffee, listening half-heartedly to the other three trying to figure out what was wrong. One of them would come up with an idea only to have the others put it down. He spun around, an idea in his mind. They were supposed to be learning from him, learning how to do medicine the way he did.

"This is how it's going to work," he said, limping toward his office. "You each get to do exactly one test. Just one test. Bring me the results. Then we'll see who's right. Or who's wrong."

Cameron narrowed her eyes at him. "You already know what's wrong with him, don't you?"

"Bingo."

"But you didn't even look at the file," pointed out Foreman.

"Didn't have to," replied House. "Not with the way you guys were just carrying on about the guy. Go run your tests. You know where to find me"

He made his way into his office, not even bothering to turn on the light. He was tired, having got very little sleep, unlike Wilson who was still back at home. Placing the cup of coffee on the edge of his desk he sunk down into the couch near the wall, swinging his legs up so that he could recline. He made sure before closing his eyes to take one of his favorite magic pills, popping the Vicodin in his mouth before drifting off to sleep.


	66. Ain't It Always That Way

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Note: **Wow, the last chapter got one review. So, um, are you guys getting tired of the story? Be honest. If you are I can start wrapping things up. I'm currently working on chapter 81 but can start tying up loose ends if you guys want to see the story come to an end. Let me know.

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**Chapter Sixty-Six: Ain't it Always That Way**

"So this is how you make the big bucks, by sleeping on the job? I must be doing something wrong," said a familiar voice.

House eased out of his slumber, not letting it show that he'd been startled. Judging by the amount of light in his office the sun must have finally come up. How long had he been asleep and why hadn't the others come to wake him up? Their tests had to have been done by now. Unless they hadn't been able to figure out what one test they wanted to run. Maybe there had been squabbling and he'd missed it. Sitting up, he didn't bother to look at his company. "Bug up your butt or…?"

"I heard about your little trip to the precinct, thought I'd come down…"

"And what? Tell me that you're working my case?" he said, grabbing his cane and standing. Only it wasn't as easy as he expected. First the room did a sort of twirl and dip, then his bum leg gave out, forcing him to sit again. He cursed under his breath, hating the fact that he'd just shown weakness. He turned his hate toward the detective. "What the hell do you want?"

"Nothing, really. I came here to have a word with Foreman, not you, but I couldn't really pass up the chance, now could I?"

House couldn't get passed the pounding in his head, the headache pain threatening to make his mood even worse. He reached for the ever familiar bottle of Vicodin, popping off the lid. He glanced at Tritter. Holding up the bottle he said, "Prescription medication. It's a great thing."

"Who do you steal from now?"

"Little old ladies, maybe the guy standing at the corner," he remarked, attempting once again to stand. This time he was able to. "Now if you don't mind…"

"By all means," Tritter said, heading toward the door. He even held it open for House. "I'll be seeing you soon enough. In court. I want to watch you burn."

"Apparently everyone does," House muttered as he walked away, his back to the detective. The last thing he needed to deal with was the arrogant detective. He had to figure out what the hell happened to his little ducklings and the tests they were running. He would rather sit through an agonizing five minutes discussion with his patient than listen to the damned detective gloat about this or that. He made his way down the hall toward the lab to see if his missing cohorts were there. But they weren't. Frowning he turned around, heading toward the patient's room. Through the window he saw a figure wrapped up in the blanket, the wires from various machines snaking all over the place. No sign of Cameron, Chase or Foreman.

"Something wrong?"

He turned to find Cuddy standing behind him. "My ugly ducklings grew into beautiful swans and left me here all alone."

She cocked an eyebrow. "You lost them? Why doesn't that surprise me…"

He shrugged, trying to think of some wisecrack he could make about her chest; which was nearly in full view with the blouse she was wearing but couldn't come up with a single thing. The headache pain, he blamed it on that. "You wouldn't happen to know…"

"Nope. Looks like you're on your own," she said, walking passed him. She called back over her shoulder, "Get a Labrador. I hear they make great hunting dogs."

Mumbling under his breath he went to Wilson's office and entered without even knocking. Thankfully the oncologist wasn't with a patient but House did manage to give him a start. Wilson had been busy writing notes in a file, his mind formulating the best treatment for a patient in the silence of his office, of his personal space. The sudden intrusion made him jump. Somehow he knew that he should have expected it. Things had been far too quiet in the hospital. No yelling from Cuddy, no bickering amongst the younger doctors. And judging by the look on his lover's face he knew why.

"Sleeping again?"

House fell onto the couch by the window. "Gotta get some sleep at some point in time. And since we didn't really get a chance to sleep last night…"

"Like that's really a complaint."

A smile tugged at the coroner's of House's mouth. "Well…the interruption is something I could complain about."

Wilson put down his pen, pushed back his chair and studied his lover. "You looking for Foreman? I saw Tritter poking around and figured that he was here for that reason."

"He paid me a pleasant visit, too."

"Sounds like something he would do…"

Pulling the bottle of Vicodin out of his pocket he popped the top. It hadn't been that long since he took the last one but his headache hadn't gone away, if anything it had gotten worse. He contributed it to the lack of sleep and having to deal with Tritter. He swallowed the pill dry; not exactly the best choice but what did it really matter as long as the damned thing did its job. He was going to say something to Wilson about the annoying detective when there was a slight knock the door. A second later it was opened by Cameron. She started to ask Wilson if he'd seen House when she noticed her boss sitting on the couch. The two senior doctors listened in silence while she explained what tests they had run and the simple fact that they had come back negative in every respect. The patient was sleeping at the moment so they decided it would be a perfect time to try brainstorming again. House excused himself, mentioning something to Wilson about doing lunch together.

Back in their conference room he found that Chase and Foreman were already waiting. He was beginning to think that maybe he shouldn't bother looking for his lost ducklings and just letting them come to him, it sure made things easier. He walked to the dry board and started to write things down as they began their brainstorming. As usual ideas were shot down while others proved to be highly possible. All of the symptoms were general so that didn't help. He told them to list the things that weren't so common, things that could actually narrow their spectrum.

"How about blood?" They all looked over at Cuddy who was standing in the doorway. "While you guys are busy in here trying to come up with a diagnosis you're patient has started to throw-up blood."

"Really?" House said, heading for the door. Things were finally starting to get interesting. He made his way to the patient's room with the others close behind him. Just as Cuddy had said the poor guy had vomited blood.

He turned to his team. "I want scans. I want to see every inch of the inside of his body."

Then he left, going out into the hallway to get away from the beeping machines. Usually they didn't bother him but today, with the non-relenting headache, even they were too much for him. If his patient hadn't just started chucking blood he would have called it a day and headed home for some peace and quiet. But it looked like he was going to have to muddle through the day with the pounding in his head.


	67. If It Weren't For Him

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

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**Chapter Sixty-Seven: If It Weren't For Him**

"How the hell did you manage to find this woman?" Wilson asked as he looked at the address on the piece of paper. They were sitting in his office once again, this time closer to the end of their work day. "And what exactly are you going to do now that you have it? Wait don't answer that, I already know and I say you can't go."

House cocked an eyebrow. "You refuse to let me go? I'm sleeping with the male version of Cuddy."

"Isn't it bad enough that you hacked into police files to get this and got yourself arrested? Now you want to pay her a visit; which could result in you getting arrested again," pointed out Wilson.

"If she didn't want people to bother her she shouldn't have pressed charges against Foreman," House remarked.

"That's beside the point." Wilson got up. "She is in her right to press those charges. After all, you did send Foreman and Chase to check out her house for possible irritants. Just because you manage to get away with it a lot doesn't mean that you're invisible. People notice when things are moved, House, even if just by a centimeter. To be honest I'm surprised you guys didn't get caught sooner."

"I didn't get caught," House said, then quickly added, "breaking into anyone's house."

Wilson crumbled the piece of paper. "Forget about this. Let him fight his own battle. Something tells me that he wouldn't be entirely happy to have you do it for him. He's already afraid he is going to turn into you."

House stood, grabbing his cane. "Since when did I become such a horrible person?" He made a move toward Wilson only to have the oncologist step back. "Give it back."

"No," Wilson stated firmly. He dodged House's next attempt to grab the ball of paper. "Last time you got arrested Cuddy chewed me out because I didn't stop you. That's not going to happen this time around."

"She'll never find out." House made another move toward Wilson, who was slowly getting backed into a corner. He'd get the damned piece of paper one way or the other.

"She always finds out."

"Would you just give me the paper?"

"Nope. Why can't you just let this go?"

"Because then I got arrested for nothing."

House made one final move forward. Wilson tried to step out of his reach but found himself back against the wall. Always liking to take advantage of the situation House made sure that the oncologist wasn't going to be going anywhere quickly by creating a barrier with his cane to one side and his arm to the other. He smiled as Wilson realized that he now had nowhere to go, or at least no quick way to go about doing it. This was too good to be true. His head had been hurting all day from the ever present headache and he'd grown quickly tired of listening to the ducklings quack about this and that before scurrying off to run more tests on a patient that wasn't getting any better. It didn't bother House in the least that he'd been wrong about what disease the patient was suffering from. He was often wrong, it's how he got to being right.

In short, he'd had a shitty day. It hadn't even started out all that promising since he was called in so damned early and had to see Tritter. No, this day had been miserable. And now there was a chance to make it just a little bit better. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against Wilson's in a surprise kiss. There was a heartbeat of hesitation before Wilson responded in kind. As the kiss grew into something more House wanted to feel the warmth of his lover's hands on…well, anywhere on him to be frank. He just wanted to feel the electricity that was always there when they touched.

But the moment was ruined by someone clearing their throat.

Before House turned to face the newest party in the room he grabbed the balled up piece of paper out of Wilson's hand. When he turned he was surprised to find Stacy standing there. For once he couldn't think of anything to say.

"I should pay more attention to the rumors…" she said.

"Would love to stay in chat but I have to go," House stated, already making a beeline for the door. "Got things to do, people to see."

"But I came here to talk to you."

"Sorry, no time."

"House…"

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The name that came with the address didn't ring a bell but when the lady opened the door he remembered her. He couldn't exactly recall what malady she came in with but he did remember her temper; one that was nearly equal to his own. There had been a battle of wits, of course, and as usual he was the one that came out the winner. Now, standing on her front step in the cold of late February he tried to tell himself that this was the right thing to do. Foreman wouldn't be in trouble if he hadn't told them to break into this woman's house. 'Course, it was because of their illegal activity that he'd been able to diagnose her.

"What do you want?" she asked instead of saying hello like a normal person.

"Thought I'd see about a follow-up," House remarked. "I wanted to talk to you about the charges you filed against my doctor."

"You're not going to change my mind. He broke into my house."

"He saved your life."

"By disrespecting my privacy!"

"But you're alive!"

"So he should just get a free ride, is that what you're saying?" she shook her head. "That man had no right to break-in; this is my home, my life."

House glared at her. "Had he not done it you would be dead right now and we wouldn't be having this conversation. He wouldn't be charged with something so ridiculous."

"Don't do the crime if you can't do the time," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"If he ends up in jail then Plainsboro loses one of its better doctors and I lose an important part of my team. Do you want to be responsible for the first person that dies, for every person that is going to die?" House, cold and tired of the headache turned on his heel, returning to his motorcycle. He didn't even stick around to hear if the woman was willing to let the charges drop. Only time would tell. Right now he wanted to head home and shut out the world. Or at least get a few more hours of sleep before going into work the next day. Unless of course he got another call in the middle of the night. Firing up his motorcycle he headed home.


	68. Colder Than Winter

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man**

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**Chapter Sixty-Eight: Colder Than Winter**

Once back at his place he headed straight for the shower, turning the water on hot in hopes of chasing away the chill that had followed him in from outside. While the stream of water washed over him, turning his skin slightly red, he thought about his patient for a fleeting moment. Then he was thinking about himself, but not really in a self-centered way. He kept trying to figure out why he'd been so stupid to hack into the police files to begin with; what had made him think he wouldn't get caught? Did he really think that he was invincible? Of course he did. How many times had he come close to dying and it had never happened? When he actually started to think about that he realized that there had been many times he should have died when by some chance he pulled through. Maybe that's what made him think he could break into the files and no one would notice. Now it was too late for common sense to kick in. Even if he did manage to get the charges dropped against Foreman there was a good possibility that he would be going to jail for it. He hit the wall with his fist, nearly slipping.

Shutting off the water he hoppled into the bedroom where he put on fresh, clean clothing. A chill ran down his spine. Apparently the shower had not been enough for him to get warm. Cursing under his breath he sat on the side of the bed. By all rights it was too earlier for him to go to bed but his head still hurt and the comforter might be enough to help drive away the chill he just couldn't seem to shake all of a sudden. He made sure that he placed his cell phone on the night stand in case someone should happen to call; like they always did. Then he popped one of his Vicodin and climbed under the covers. He'd finally get a few extra hours of sleep. He hoped that when he woke up the headache would be gone and the chill with it.

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Wilson got home well after dark, later than he had been expecting. But a patient had been referred to him by another doctor and he judged by the tone of her voice that the patient in question was not doing well. And his assumption had been correct. The stage three cancer left the patient little hope to live but he talked it out with the man and they both agreed that they would try anyway. Miracles did happen, even medical mysteries happened. He still couldn't help feeling that this was a waste of time, though. The cancer was so far along, the damage just about irreversible. Of course, thinking about the patient's outcome only made him think about his own battle with the deadly disease. He'd been lucky to have it caught earlier enough for treatments to help. Now he was in remission. Looming over his head was the dark cloud that kept reminding him that it could come back at any moment. He had to wait five years before they considered him completely cured. If he recalled his statistics correctly the type of cancer he'd had usually came back within three years. But he would worry about that when and if it came around.

Right now the only thing he wanted to do was spend quality time with House.

The love of his life could very well end up in jail and that wouldn't really sit well with Wilson. For some reason he didn't see House doing all that well in prison. There would be no puzzles to solve, no Cuddy to annoy, and chances are he'd piss off the wrong person and get himself beat. Not to mention, he didn't think they would allow Vicodin on the premises since it was the drug of choice for some people. That meant that House would be in pain all the time.

When he opened the door he was surprised to find the place dark. He'd been expecting to find House curled up on the couch watching the news or reading a medical journal or even playing his guitar. His lover wasn't sitting at the piano either. The motorcycle parked out front told him that House was home. The doctor would not have gone on a walk, not with the present risk of slipping on ice.

"House?" he called out.

A muffled sound came from the bedroom. He felt like smacking himself in the head. Why hadn't he thought of it before? They'd barely gotten any sleep the night before so of course House would be trying to make up for it. Leaving his briefcase and coat and other objects by the door he headed toward the bedroom in his stocking feet. A minute later he flipped on the bedroom light. The huddled form in the bed had to be House.

"House, you awake?"

The only response he got was a muffled groan. He stopped beside the side of the bed and pulled back the covers. House glared at him, yanking the blanket back.

"You look like shit," he said. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Feeling dandy."

"Looks like you have the flu," Wilson suggested, taking in the thin layer of sweat on House's body. The diagnostician shivered slightly. Wilson sighed, smiling. "You stay here; let me see about getting you some soup or something."

House grumbled.

"Don't start with me. Someone needs to take care of you." Wilson headed toward the door. Standing in the opening he turned to look back over his shoulder. "And you even so much as set foot outside of this bedroom I'll have Foreman come in and read you names out of the phone book."


	69. Something's Missing

**Title:** Mending a Broken Man

**Note:** As I start writing the last few chapters I figured it would be best to ask you guys what questions you would like answered. I know there has to be some...leave me a note in the reviews and I'll see what I can do. I don't want to leave you guys wondering!

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**Chapter Sixty-Nine: Something's Missing**

Cameron was ready to pull out fistfuls of hair. The guys were driving her crazy in their constant bickering about what the patient had for a disease. One would mention a suggestion and rattle off the reason why he thought it was the right choice but then the idea would get shot down and the second person would list all the reason why it couldn't be said disease. She tried yelling at them to shut up, to stop bickering so that maybe they might actually get a diagnosis. But the two of them chose to ignore her. She was five seconds away from popping Chase in the back of the head and calling him an idiot. In the long run it would prove to be worthless. Gathering together her few things she left the room in hopes of finding some place quiet where she could think. Without the noise of them arguing perhaps she'd get lucky, stumble across what illness their patient had.

Of course, everything would be easier if House was actually at the hospital. If anybody could get Foreman and Chase to stop arguing it would be House. It was fast approaching ten in the afternoon and though she kept calling his cell phone she'd yet to receive an answer or call back. Something must be up, or maybe he'd decided that he wanted to shrug off work for the day for something he deemed more fun. She wasn't willing to put it past him. In the hallway she finally managed to find some peace, despite the fact that it was the hall of a bustling hospital. At least the people weren't arguing. She headed toward the elevator, planning to head outside for some fresh air.

Down in the lobby she ran into Cuddy.

"Have you seen House? He was supposed to work in the clinic today but I haven't been able to find him," she said. "My guess is that he's trying to hide from me. Unfortunately for him I'm not in the mood for games."

Cameron shook her head, offering her an apologetic smile. "No, I haven't been able to find him. Foreman and Chase are upstairs arguing like little kids."

"Have you tried his phone?" Cuddy asked.

"Yes," she said. "And he isn't answering."

Cuddy started to look worried, her brow furrowed. "You don't think he fell or anything, do you? Maybe we should run by his apartment, check up on him."

"Or we could ask Wilson," suggested Cameron. She tried to remember if she'd seen the oncologist at all during the morning. Had she run into him in the parking lot or seen his car? Had he been in the hallway or down in the cafeteria that morning getting his coffee? She couldn't recall having seen him at all. "Come to think of it, Wilson seems to be missing too."

"Oh joy," Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Guess we know why no one is answering a phone."

"You tried calling Wilson?"

Cuddy shook her head. "No but…put two and two together."

Cameron shrugged. "I'll try again in like an hour. Right now I'm heading outside for some fresh air and peace of mind. Maybe you can get the two of them to stop acting so childish."

She chuckled. "I can't even discipline House."

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Outside she inhaled deeply the crisp air. Though it was still downright cold outside she was happy to note that there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. Hopefully it wouldn't be too long before the cold spell broke. She was tired of all the snow and having to run to her car in the morning so she didn't freeze. Then there were the mornings when she had to scrap the ice off of her windows just to see where she was going. Winter was beautiful, she'd give it that; but it was more of a problem than anything else.

Shoving her hands into her pockets she felt the familiar presence of her cell phone. That brought her back 'round to the fact that House was missing. Unlike Cuddy she didn't think it had something to do with the two love birds holing up in the apartment. Wilson was responsible; he would have called in to tell someone that they weren't going to be there. Her mind went back to all the horrible things that happened over the last few months. The roads were still slick and dangerous. She knew for a fact that at least three people ended up in the hospital's emergency room every day due to car accidents. What if they had gotten into an accident on the way to work? House would have ignored the conditions of the road and driven his motorcycle; a poor choice of transportation during winter.

Chewing her bottom lip she began to think of calling around to see if maybe she could find out…Hearing the sound of someone walking toward her she looked to her left on instinct. And there was Wilson, briefcase in hand.

"Where the hell have you been?" she called, not even really waiting for him to get within earshot.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Good morning to you, too, Cameron."

"Good morning? I've been stuck in a closed room with two doctors who seem to think they know everything. It's like having two of House around…only less snarky."

"Hey, you're talking about the man I love," protested Wilson.

"And that brings me to my next question. Where is House?"

"He won't be coming in today," Wilson remarked as he walked into the lobby.

"Why not?" Cuddy managed to get out before Cameron. She had been waiting inside the door ready to pounce as soon as the oncologist walked in. "What lame excuse did he come up with this time?"

Wilson sighed. "No lame excuse. He has the flu so he's at home in bed, per my orders. And I will not have him here for anything."

"That bad?" Cuddy asked.

"He looked like shit last night but knowing how stubborn he is, give it another day and he'll be back to his normal self."


	70. It Doesn't Matter Anymore

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man**

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**Chapter Seventy: It Doesn't Matter Anymore**

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose, the sun pouring through the windows of his office enough to blind anyone. He felt tired, weary, and now there was another problem to deal with. What he wouldn't give to have some peace, a nice smooth path to travel down. Instead he kept finding all the bumps and potholes in the road. He let out a ragged sigh, all of his aching muscles relaxing but the pain staying. The only thing he really wanted was to hear House's voice; to know that someone loved him and that at least one thing was right in his world. But House wasn't answering his phone. Wilson didn't really expect him to; when he'd left that morning House looked sicker than a dog. He smiled faintly as he remembered the small disagreement that they had. Wilson wanted him to come into the hospital for medication to treat his flu but House had been adamant that he would be fine; despite the fact that he was sweating so much and trembling with the chills. He complained about a headache as he popped Vicodin.

And his day had all gone downhill from there. He'd been pestered left and right all day long to call House. His team needed help with their patient because all the tests they were running came up negative. They weren't getting anywhere as the patient steadily got worse. Cuddy joined the search for the elusive disease that was slowly killing the man lying in the hospital bed. But in the end it all proved to be for nothing. The guy passed away. When two-o-clock rolled around he expected the unsettling silence that had settled to be broken, to be partially blamed for the death of the patient because he wouldn't get a hold of House. They didn't know that he'd been trying. But even if he had reached the diagnostician it probably wouldn't have done any of them any good. The chills and the headache told Wilson that House had a fever. He was probably slightly delirious. He was definitely in no condition to come to the hospital and check his patient.

Nobody understood better than Wilson that not all patients could be saved.

He'd lost three today. The families had called him to let him know that their loved ones had passed away. After all these years he still couldn't get over losing a patient. He dealt with one of the biggest killers in the world but that didn't mean losing a patient made it any easier. Why did they have to die while he continued to live? How come he was able to beat his cancer? Was it because that he knew the early warning signs or just sheer luck? Some people would say that he had survivor's guilt. Maybe he did. Maybe deep down he was like House, wanting everybody he treated to walk out of the hospital to live a carefree life just because he wanted them to. His lover worked with diseases that could be cured or at least managed. Cancer was an unpredictable monster that wasn't in any way picky about who it killed.

He focused on a point on the wall across from his desk, his eyes going unfocused. There had been a part of him that thought having been exposed to the disease first hand would help him understand it better, bring him closer to his patients. But he hadn't told any of them because that might give them false hope and he wouldn't have been able to live with that. The only person that understood what he went through was House. For some reason he'd only been able to open up to House about how he felt dealing with the deadly disease. There was a part of him that wanted to discuss with Cameron or Cuddy but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Deep down he didn't really want to know what they had to say because neither one of them knew what it was like to be in pain, to feel so tired and exhausted. At least House could see where he was coming from.

Grabbing his keys he decided to make it an early day. He didn't have anymore appointments and without House around he had nothing to keep him busy. For once he was actually afraid to be alone with his thoughts. He always told himself that House was crazy for cutting, for overdosing on pain medication but now he was beginning to understand why his lover did those things. And that scared him. That's why he would head home and sit beside the bed; taking care of the only man he loved. It would be better than sitting in his office in the overwhelming silence.

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Back at home House was still in bed. Wilson looked at his sick lover, thinking about whether or not he should tell House his patient had passed away. In the long run he decided not to say anything. What good would it do for either of them? Wilson didn't want to talk about death and House was in no shape to even hear about it. After feeding House some chicken soup he settled on the couch. He'd meant to watch television, the volume down low but he must have drifted off, his body exhausted from the emotional toll of the day. When he next opened his eyes it was dark outside and equally dark inside since there weren't any lights on. Flicking on a lamp he wondered what had awakened him when he heard the sound of someone retching coming from the direction of the bathroom. House was up and moving, his illness forcing him out of bed.

Wilson went to check on him and found him sitting on the bathroom floor. Crouching down he put a hand on House's forehead. "Damn, you're burning up. Have you taken anything but Vicodin today, like something to break this fever?"

"I need to go…" House said his voice hoarse. "Hospital."

"You want to go to the hospital?"

House shook his head. "No. _Need_ to go to the hospital. Not the flu."

A tiny part of him wanted to argue with House but he knew that it was pointless. He felt a chill run down his spine as he helped House to his feet, holding most of his lover's weight as they headed toward the door. If House was convinced it wasn't the flu and wanted to go to the hospital then chances are that he was right. And that made Wilson feel sick to his stomach.


	71. Losing Your Love

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man**

* * *

**

**Chapter Seventy-One: Losing Your Love**

He tore off another tiny square from the once intact napkin, letting the tiny white square float to the table and join the others already gathered there. With every passing minute the pile got bigger and bigger while the napkin grew smaller and smaller. He couldn't think of anything else to do with his nervous energy. He wasn't a smoker since he couldn't go outside and inhale nicotine to get rid of the edge. He also wasn't a drinker so no alcohol to help him calm down, to lessen his inhibitions and relax him. Unlike House he didn't have a bottle of pain medication that he could take out and play with, popping a pill or two, maybe rattling the remaining pills inside. The napkin was the sacrifice.

As he tore off yet another piece he tried to think of the best way to get his feelings out in the open. The air felt heavy, crackling with his nervous energy. How come she couldn't feel it? He could hear her humming in the other room as she busied herself with the remaining parts of dinner. Who would have known that she liked to cook when there was time for it? He inhaled the pleasant aromas drifting out of the kitchen, pulling off another chunk of the napkin that was quickly dwindling in his hand. He tried not to think about her in the kitchen. He tried not to think about her at all.

But that was impossible when she was at the center of his problem. He wondered where their relationship would be had he not gone away to clear his head. It didn't matter, though, because if given the opportunity to replay the last few months he would do everything exactly the same. He needed that time away to sit back and look at his life from a distance, to get a clear picture of where things were going. It let him see that he was indeed content to be working at the hospital under House, who was easily one of the best doctor's of his time. Though he didn't know Foreman all that well he figured that any other hospital would be boring without having him around to argue with. Cuddy made a wonderful boss, a more understanding boss than House. If he needed some advice he could always ask Wilson. And then, of course, there was her. He came back for her and now…

"Dinner's done," she proclaimed as she came into the small dining room, a plate in each hand. The drinks were already on the table. He got up, took one plate for himself and pulled out her seat before she could even bat an eyelash. He needed everything to be perfect and even if it was, would he get the courage to bring up what he wanted to talk about?

"Smells delicious," he remarked, inhaling the pleasant scents, eager to dig in but waiting for her to get situated. He may have been across the globe but the manners his mother taught him still remained.

She smiled at him. "Do you have any idea how nice it is to finally have some time to eat a home cooked meal and not something nuked in the microwave?"

Her attitude was so infectious that he couldn't help but return her smile. "Yeah, tell me about it. Sometimes I wonder how doctors stay healthy."

"We make do," she shrugged. He watched as she took the first bite, letting her enjoy the fruits of her labor. He had wanted to help her in the kitchen think that maybe they could talk and he would be able to ease into his problem. But no such luck. She wanted to do the work herself. He understood that completely.

For a few minutes they enjoyed the meal in silence, both of them lost in thoughts. As he ate he couldn't figure out why she didn't sense that something was wrong. Unless of course she did but felt no need to bring it up or couldn't quite figure out how to broach the subject, much like him. There was a voice inside his head that told him to just blurt it out, purge his mind and body of the troubles that were mounting. In reality he was probably making the situation worse than it needed to be, blowing the whole thing out of proportion. For some reason he felt that he could blame House for that.

"Something wrong?" she asked. "You're oddly quiet tonight." She looked at him, turned her beautiful eyes in his direction and he suddenly found it hard to swallow. Before he knew it he was coughing and she was there, patting him soothingly on the back and offering him a glass of water. His mind quickly switched gears. How could he have been thinking things were wrong between them? That somehow he was losing her love? Apparently he still meant a lot to her.

Either that or she was just being nice.

That little nagging voice came back, chasing away the pleasant feeling that had been ready to settle over him. When things finally calmed down and he was able to speak again he did. "Sorry 'bout that."

She smiled again. Always with that smile. "It's okay."

"Cameron," he started. He finally felt he could ask, finally ready to bring up what had been eating away at him since he'd returned to New Jersey. But he didn't get the chance to go any further as her cell phone began to ring in a most annoying manner. Why did it always seem to know the right time to interrupt him? She held up a finger, the universal sign of just-a-moment before getting up to grab the chirping device. He waited with baited breathe, hearing her mumbled voice in the other room.

When she came back into the dinning room he knew that it was over, his chance to talk had passed. The look on her face was not one of happiness but more of someone who needed to get something serious done. "What's wrong?"

"That was Foreman," she told him, gathering up her half eaten dinner. "We need to get to the hospital as soon as possible."

"We don't even have time to finish dinner?" he asked, already knowing the answer. He began to gather up his dishes regretting the fact that he wouldn't be finishing the meal she worked so hard to cook. "Do we have a patient or something?"

"Yes," she said. She'd just placed her dishes in the sink and turned to face him. "Wilson brought House in a matter of minutes ago and I guess things don't look so good. Foreman mentioned something about him having the flu but that it wasn't the flu. It was kind of hard to hear him with House in the background making a lot of nose. I figured we'd just head in; see what the hell is going on."

He placed his dishes in the sink beside hers. "All right, but I'm driving." As they headed toward the front door he said, "You'd think with all the other shit going on in their lives that the universe would cut the two of them some slack."

To which she came back with, "Don't things always get worse before they get better?"


	72. You're Never Alone

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man**

* * *

**

**Chapter Seventy-Two: You're Never Alone**

House felt like throwing up and it wouldn't be the first time. Since Wilson had gotten him to the hospital he'd done exactly that twice, making it three times if he counted the incident back at home. He felt like shit, like yesterday's trash. In all his life he could not remember being in such agony. Not after overdosing, the car accident or even electrocuting himself. This was something new. It felt like someone had set his insides on fire. He tried to convey the amount of pain he was in to Wilson but for some reason he couldn't find the right words to make his lover understand just how horrible he really felt.

When they had first arrived at the hospital Cuddy, used to all sorts of stunts from House, thought that maybe it was another one of his ploys to get out of clinic duty and to make her anger wane at the loss of a patient. For some reason she actually thought that Wilson had been covering for House when he said that the diagnostician had the flu. But when she put her palm against his forehead she knew that it wasn't a lie. No healthy person felt as hot as House did at that particular moment. After much fussing they managed to get his temperature down to a less dangerous degree. Then once he was situated in a hospital bed in a private room the both of them disappeared. He'd been alone for quite some time now and it was beginning to bother him. He wanted to get up, find somebody to yell at but that meant moving and he wasn't exactly sure he could do that without causing himself more pain.

So instead he popped a Vicodin, praying that the little white pills that had kept the pain at bay for years would do their magic once again.

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The diagnostician wasn't the only one that felt like throwing up. Sitting in the room where House usually got his team to work cases, Wilson tapped a pen nervously on the table top. His nervousness was making him feel the slightest bit nauseous but it was a false alarm. He wasn't going to throw up; at least not any time soon. He watched as Cuddy walked a straight line to the right side of the room for the umpteenth time. He kept telling himself not to watch her pace but it was harder than he thought. Once she'd gone as far as she could she turned to head back toward the left. Fifteen to twenty minutes had passed since they both made phone calls; her to Cameron and him to Foreman. The three doctors were on their way in, Chase catching a ride with his girlfriend. Or whatever Cameron was to him. Wilson found the lines between the two of them a little blurred at the moment.

None of them really knew what was wrong other than the fact that House was sick. Cuddy was hoping, as she had told Wilson, that perhaps this was something that House's team had seen before and they would be able to treat it. Wilson didn't have the heart to tell her that if House knew what was wrong he would tell them. Who in their right mind would want to wither around in pain just to make some sort of point or to get out of clinic duty? Sure House would go to extremes but Wilson could tell when he was playing games. This wasn't a game.

All that pain, it was real.

Something was wrong and it made him feel anxious and nervous.

He was about ready to jump out of his skin when Foreman walked into the room wearing jeans and a T-shirt; not his usual work attire. But what could they expect? They had all been home for the night, relaxing and doing whatever they did when work was over. Before the dark-skinned doctor could ask what was going on Cameron entered the room with Chase close on her heels. He could sense that something was off with Chase. However he didn't have time to really think about it or spending time speculating about what it could be. There were more important things to deal with.

Cameron was the first to speak. "What's going on? What is wrong with House?"

As a response Cuddy shrugged. "Honestly can't tell you. I'm actually hoping that you can tell me."

"You don't…" Chase didn't finish what he was going to say.

Wilson suppressed the urge to get up and start yelling at them to actually do something instead of standing around asking questions.

"Why don't we go take a look at him?" Foreman suggested, having registered the crackling air around Wilson.

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He watched as Cuddy led his three charges back out into the hallway to start discussing what the hell was going on; without him. Though he usually didn't visit his patients for a long time he hated to be kept out of the loop on what was going on. The doctor in him liked to know all the possibilities. He was thankful that Wilson stayed in the room with him, though he wasn't exactly comforted by the look on Wilson's face. Maybe his lover wasn't aware of it but House could read him clearly and the look in Wilson's eyes told him that the oncologist was afraid; that they weren't sure what was wrong with him.

How long would he be in such intense pain?

Grabbing at his bottle of Vicodin he popped the top and dumped one of the little white pills into his hand.

"How many of those have you had today?" Wilson asked, his voice quiet, his words conveying more than he actually said.

House looked at him. "Not enough to cause me this…whatever you want to call it. I didn't do this to myself, Wilson."

"I believe you," he replied, walking around the side of the bed. "But given your track record…"

"They don't know what's wrong, do they?"

Wilson shook his head. Then he reluctantly took away the bottle of pain medication and the single pill in House's hand. He had discussed this with Cuddy; until they knew what was wrong House wasn't to have any access to Vicodin. He tried to tell her that if House wanted it bad enough that he would find a way to get it. She assured him that it would not be possible. He saw the look on House's face. "I'm sorry…you can't….to be safe."

"Can I at least have some morphine to dull the pain?"

"The pills aren't working?" Wilson frowned.

House shook his head. "They haven't been for a while."

"Hm, strange."

House grabbed the sleeve of his shirt with one hell of a grip. "If I can't have my Vicodin or morphine can you at least stay?"

"Of course," Wilson assured him, putting the pill back in the bottle and slipping the bottle into his pocket. He grabbed the chair near the far wall and pulled it closer to the bed. "This time, though, I promise not to miss something important. I won't leave you alone for a minute. I promise, House."


	73. What's a Man to Do?

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Note: **I've been meaning to ask, all you American fans, what did you think of the last episode? All that House-Wilson stuff...was it perfect or could it have been better?**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Seventy-Three: What's A Man To Do**

He heard the commotion out in the hallway but figured that someone else could deal with it. He had a promise to keep. And so far he was doing rather well at keeping it. The only time he left the room was when House was awake and livid, though sometimes it was hard for him to leave when he saw how much pain his lover was in. It broke his heart to see him this way. What bothered him was the simple fact that nobody seemed to know what was wrong with the irate doctor. And it was getting harder and harder for them to find a doctor actually willing to try treating House. His tongue had gotten more acidic with the lack of pain medication. Surprisingly he reserved his bitterness for others, never once saying something vile or rude to Wilson. He managed to keep that part of him hidden while talking to his lover and that, of course, sort of bothered Wilson. He was used to House's rude comments and blatant remarks. He would start worrying that the pain was affecting House's way of thinking but then he would hear the doctor say something so like him to one of the doctors or nurses. He should have been happy knowing that House only spoke to him lovingly.

He was anything but happy.

There was a growing fear in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to hear House call him a name or make some wise-ass remark directed at him. Where was the man that he fell in love with? Why, when he was clearly in a shit load of pain, would he control his temper? It sent all manner of thoughts running through Wilson's mind. And none of them were pleasant. Could it be that House knew something none of them did? No, he wouldn't have kept his mouth shut this long. By now he would have been yelling at everyone for their incompetence, telling them what idiots they were. And there was no way in hell he would endure this pain just to get sympathy.

Or would he?

Wilson sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face. He leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, as he watched the rise and fall of House's chest. At least he was breathing on his own. The only machine they currently had him hooked to was a heart monitor, though he was getting an IV drip. Things could be worse, he kept telling himself. They could always be worse. Suppressing a yawn he got up, stretching. He really needed to take a trip to the bathroom but didn't want to leave House alone.

Sometimes waiting wasn't an option.

House would be fine, he told himself. And even if he did get up, the bottle of Vicodin wouldn't be in the room. Wilson had made sure to take the little orange fiend and lock it in his desk drawer. There was a tiny voice in his head that told him it was cruel to withhold the pain medication from his lover, who was clearly in a ton of pain. But he wanted to follow Cuddy's orders. He was trying to soften her anger over House's trip to jail.

Lost in thought he wasn't really paying attention to what was going on around him. It had been a long day and he was so tired that it was easy for him to completely space out. That was the only excuse he could come up with for why he didn't notice the person leaning against the wall near House's office. Not until they spoke up.

"I hear he's been off the Vicodin for a day now," Tritter's voice floated toward him. "This is one way to detox, though I had something else in mind."

Wilson glared at the detective. Dealing with him was the last thing House needed right now. "Do you mind waiting for some other time to be a pain in the ass?"

"Someone has been taking lessons from his boyfriend," remarked Tritter. "Oh, don't look so surprised," he said a minute later, having seen something on Wilson's face. "I am a detective, I notice things. The two of you…how long?"

"None of your business," he replied through clenched teeth. "Now if you don't mind…" Wilson was annoyed to find that Tritter was going to follow him. So he turned to look at the detective. "What the hell do you want?"

Tritter smiled. "Does you boss know what he did? Of course she knows. She always knows. And yet he still has a job. She likes him, that's clear, but do you think she can actually convince the board to let him keep his job much longer?"

"Don't have something better you could be doing, like arresting some guy who just knocked off a liquor store?" Wilson said, managing to keep his anger in check. House was so much better at dealing with this guy than he was. All he wanted to do was get to the bathroom and return to House as soon as he could. The longer he was away…

He watched as the detective pulled an envelope out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He held it out for Wilson. "Just thought I would drop by and give this to him but since he's…well, laying down on the job, I'll give it to you. Make sure that he gets it."

Wilson tore the envelope from the detective's grasp. "I will."

"I'll be seeing you," he promised, more like threatened, on his way out. Wilson stood in the hallway, looking over his shoulder, watching the guy go. Now he understood why House always felt the need to do battle with the detective and do everything within his power to piss him off. Detective Tritter was a pain in the ass, simple as that. Unlike House, who was unhappy and bitter, Tritter was just…Wilson couldn't even think of an appropriate term. For some reason he wished he had told the detective to 'go fuck himself' instead of taking the envelope. Too late now. He tore open the envelope to find a court summons inside. It was only a matter of time…Wilson chewed his bottom lip, wondering if he should tell House about this. As it was the sick doctor was going to miss the date; which was two days away.

He looked around the hallway, checking to see if anyone was paying any attention to him. Nope, not a soul was looking in his direction. He looked back down at the white piece of paper with all the legal mumbo-jumbo and he crumbled it into a ball. If anyone asked he would just claim to have never received the summons. Easy as pie. House wasn't the only one who could play games. Wilson didn't fall in love with him without learning a thing or two about lying and deceiving. Now he just had to perfect the art…


	74. The Strings That Tie You Down

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man**

* * *

**

**Chapter Seventy-Four: The Strings that Tie you Down**

When he got back to the room, the court summons from Tritter already fading from his mind, he found House sitting up in the hospital bed. There was a glint in his pale blue eyes that told Wilson he was up to no good. He smiled at the sight of his lover actually sitting in the bed. The past day he had been in too much pain to move so there was a definite improvement in what was going on. And though he was happy to note that House was looking better he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Maybe it was because he was getting better without any real treatment. They'd been given him basic antibiotics and some steroids to help. Nobody had any idea what caused the crippling pain. Wilson wondered if it was just a passing thing that they'd never uncover and would never come back. He wouldn't mind that in the least.

"Feeling better?" he asked him, coming to a stop beside the bed. "You sure look like it…"

House smiled fleetingly. "If by better you mean no longer feeling like a giant pin cushion, then yes, I do. The pain is low level now, tolerable. Pretty much what my leg usually throws at me so I should be fine on some Vicodin."

The conversation with Tritter popped into his head. House had been off the Vicodin for a day or two, that proved to Wilson that the diagnostician didn't really need his drug of choice to handle the pain. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Are you sure you want to start taking that stuff again? You did just fine the last two days without it. Maybe…"

"Please don't give me another one of those speeches, Wilson," he protested.

Wilson put his hands up in defeat. "All right, all right, you win. You get to keep your Vicodin. I'll have to run down to my office to get it, though. I put it away so you couldn't sneak it out of my pocket while I was sleeping."

That twinkle in House's eyes got brighter, a coy smile forming on his lips. "You're learning, grasshopper."

"I will be right back," he assured, kissing House on the forehead before once again leaving the room. He worried on his walk back toward his office that he would once again run into Tritter. The detective was like a ghost, popping up here and there when he wanted to; which was usually when he was least needed. He wouldn't put it past the damned guy to stick around to see if the letter was delivered to its rightful owner. Wilson knew it was wrong not to tell House about the court summons but he wanted it all to go away. He wanted them to have some peace, a bit of calm for once. Lately it had been one thing after another and it was getting on his nerves. A voice in the back of his mind kept warning him that he couldn't let him self get run down; he had to keep his body strong. The threat for the cancer to come back hung over his head. But he tried not to dwell on that.

Shouting drew his attention and he looked off to his right to see a nurse having problems with an irate patient who probably didn't care for the treatment they were giving him. At least, that's what he managed to get out of the heated and shouted words. Foreman came out of nowhere to help break things up but the guy wouldn't return to his hospital bed willingly. That meant that security would be called. Seeing Foreman made Wilson's heart skip a beat. Was Tritter hanging around keeping an eye on him? He looked up and down the hall but didn't see him anywhere. A sigh relaxed the muscles in his body.

"Something up?" asked Cameron, falling into step beside them. Miraculously there had been no patients for House's team since he'd been brought into the office. Almost like someone wanted to make sure he was healthy once again before they threw the next puzzle at him. He knew that during these lulls the three doctors found other work to keep them busy and keep their minds sharp. They needed to learn as much as they could about hospital rules so that someday when they weren't working for House they would still manage to get and keep a job.

"House is awake and says he's actually feeling good," Wilson told her, knowing that out of everybody she would be the one to share in his joy. To think, he'd once been jealous of her. Now she had Chase so there wasn't a problem anymore. "I'm just on my way to my office to get his bottle of Vicodin."

"They have a word for people like you," she said.

"Oh?"

"Enabler," she smiled. "I take it he's quickly returning to his old self, huh? Already wanting to pop his pills. Do you really think it's wise to give them back to him? This could be a great way to make him detox and maybe even break him of the habit."

Wilson shook his head. "I tried, he wouldn't hear it."

"Tell him that Cuddy refuses to allow him to have the medication because of the treatment," she suggested.

"You know it won't go for that. He'll just wait for a chance when no one is looking and then he'll sneak out to get them himself," said Wilson, pushing open the door of his office. The day of the attack flashed through his mind and he paused momentarily, the cut along his palm burning all of a sudden. "We really should just face that fact that we can't chance him. He loves his pills. At least he's not an alcoholic or doing pot. There are worse things…"

"Then been addicted to pain killers?" She had stopped in the door way, her arms crossed, a clipboard pressed against her chest.

Wilson tried to hide the fact that he was shaking ever so slightly. Being in his office brought back that day, the feelings that went racing through his body, and started his heart racing. All at once he felt that the walls were closing in around him, suffocating him. He let out a ragged sigh, grabbing the bottle of Vicodin out of the top drawer of his desk. Then he was heading back out into the hallway.

"Are you okay?" Cameron asked him.

He smiled, knowing that it probably looked phony. "Fine, I just want to get these to him before he holds one of the nurses hostage or something."

"That would probably be a good idea," Cameron agreed rather oddly. "He has pissed off quite the list of doctors and nurses in these last two days. It's pretty amazing."

"Don't tell him." He could feel the claustrophobia and panic easing from his body as they started back down the hall. The argument from earlier had been taken care of, the patient returned to wherever he'd come from. "He'll want to see about a world record or something."

Cameron giggled. "That would be typical." Her watch beeped. "Shit, I have a dental appointment. Tell House I said hi, okay?"

"Can do."

Once again he was walking down the hallway by himself. He tried to think of a lie, a reason to keep the Vicodin from House but nothing came to him. The longer he kept the pills from him the more likely he was to do something stupid. Things hadn't turned out well the few times they tried to get him to detox so why should he bother attempting it again? No, he would give the bottle back to House, let him enjoy his pills. It would take away the pain in his leg. Not to mention, the addiction was just another part of who House was, another part of the man he loved. He rounded the corner in time to see a nurse come out of House's room with a rather unpleasant look on her face.

He quickened his pace, pushing open the door. "What the hell did you do to her?"

"Nothing. I was as sweet as an angel," remarked House. "Did you get my pills?"

Wilson held up the bottle, shaking it slightly. Then he tossed it to House. "I really wish-"

"Wilson…"

"…that you would stop pissing off all the nurses. One of these days you'll piss off the wrong person and they'll try killing you."

"Promises, promises," he muttered, twisting the cap off the bottle. "And the last person failed…"

"House."

He popped one of the little white pills into his mouth, smiling. "You know you love me and wouldn't have me any other way."

"Any other way and you wouldn't be you."

"Precisely. Now where would the fun be in that?"


	75. I Quit

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man

**Note: **I actually wrote the final chapter of this story just Monday so there's an end in sight. And some questions will be answered.

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**Chapter Seventy-Five: I Quit**

The doctors didn't want to release House and Cuddy was just as adamant that he remain in the hospital for observation, especially since they weren't aware of what caused him to be so ill. But as is typical House decided he wasn't staying. As Wilson tried to persuade him to change his mind House got dressed. All the diagnostician wanted to do was return to his apartment and sleep in his bed. It had been how many nights of sleeping without Wilson beside him? Granted his lover_had_ been sleeping in a chair beside the bed but the affect just wasn't the same. He wanted to feel the heat of Wilson against him. And to be frank, the hospital food was seriously turning off his appetite. Nothing that a little cooking by Wilson couldn't fix. So much to everyone's disapproval, but not to their surprise, House walked out of the hospital within in an hour. The simple fact that there lacked a patient in need of his care made it ease for him to slip away. Wilson, on the other hand, had to remain at Plainsboro to see a few of his patients who had appointments late in the day. Every chance he got he called home to talk with House and see how he was feeling. Though he could hear the annoyance in House's voice he kept calling to check up on him.

Until sometime after three when he had four patients back to back. There was no time for a call home. And before he knew it shift was over. So he decided to just drive home instead of bothering the other doctor with yet another phone call. As he drove through the darkening city he made plans for the night that included a delicious home cooked meal and a bit of snuggling afterward. They needed some time alone for just the two of them. He would make sure that both of their cell phones were off so that no one could interrupt them in the middle of the night. It wasn't exactly a responsible thing to do since House was on call twenty-four-seven, patients in need of his care arriving at all hours of the day and night. But Cuddy would understand, he was sure of that.

He managed to find a spot right outside the apartment building and was soon slipping his key into the lock. When he pushed open the door he found House sitting on the couch idly flipping channels in hopes of finding something interesting to watch. With the sudden increase of reality shows he was frequently more bored when it came to the television. Wilson wasn't even sure why he bothered to turn it on in the first place. At the sound of the door closing he looked over the back of the couch, a twinkle in his eye.

"'Bout damn time you got home, I'm starving," he remarked.

"Dinner will be done soon," Wilson told him, leaving his work stuff by the door and heading over to the couch. They kissed. "How are you feeling?"

"Hungry."

Wilson tried not to smile but failed. "Okay, I get it. The master chef is slipping into the kitchen so that his lover doesn't start eating magazines."

"I'm not a goat," House called after him. "And even if I was, why would I eat magazines? All those tackily dressed people would ruin my appetite."

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While House and Wilson were able to get away from the hospital for the night the others weren't quiet as lucky. Cameron was spending her time helping out in the emergency room and with a ten car pile-up having occurred around rush hour she found herself suddenly very busy treating people with minor injuries and even some that were slightly serious. At least no one died in the accident. The worst injuries they saw were broken bones. Chase had been giving a hand with surgery and was finishing up with a patient that had appendicitis.

Meanwhile Foreman was packing up his belongs to head home. He was done for the day and eager to get some alone time and a few hours of deep sleep before putting up with House the next day. He knew that despite the fact House had been in the hospital that he would be back the next day and most likely back to his normal self. As he closed his briefcase there came a soft knock on the door. Peering over his shoulder he saw that it was Cuddy with Detective Tritter behind her. The detective was as tenacious as House but even his boss had morals. What sort of detective went after doctors who had technically done nothing wrong? So what if he broke into a few homes? At least the patients lived. Shouldn't that trump breaking and entering?

"Tritter would like to have a word with you," she said, slipping into the room.

Foreman was putting his coat on. "Well I don't want to speak with him. I want to get home. We can talk tomorrow."

"Foreman," she said, crossing her arms over her chest, "you can't give him the brush off. He's dying to fuck up House's life and he now has a hold on you. Don't give him reasons to push."

"What do you want me to do? Just admit what I did and let him lock me up?" asked Foreman. "I won't lie; I did break into the houses. Cameron and Chase have done the same thing. As have House and Wilson, at least once. Why is he targeting me? It wouldn't be hard for him to get evidence on the others. You know why he singled me out. It'll be easier to get charges to stick to a black man. Juries will be more apt to believe that I broke the law. He doesn't care that I'm a damned good doctor and that the information I gathered from those homes actually helped to save lives. All he wants is to put me behind bars."

"And this hospital is prepared to stand behind you, Foreman," she told him.

He looked out the window at Detective Tritter. "You know what, don't worry about it. I wouldn't be in this trouble if it weren't for House. I only did those things because of him. And now I won't be put in that position anymore." He grabbed his briefcase off the table.

"What are you talking about?"

"I quit," he stated simply, walking out the door.

Cuddy wasted little time in following him. "You quit? Foreman, that's crazy. It won't solve the problem."

Before Foreman could reply they both noticed that Chase was coming down the hallway at a rather fast pace, a look of fear on his face. They waited with baited breath until the Aussie was within range. Then he started speaking so fast that he tripped over his words, making it hard for them to understand what he was saying.

Cuddy placed a hand on his arm. "Slow down, Chase. Take a deep breath."

He did.

"Now what's the problem?" she asked.

"House, he's down in the ER with Wilson," he managed to get out. "According to Wilson he was doing fine when he got home. He was cooking dinner when he heard a strange sound from the living room." By now the three doctors and the detective were heading toward the ER at an amazing pace. "When he went to investigate he said that House was unconscious. He came to a minute later complaining about intense abdominal pain and lightheadedness. Then he started to vomit."

When they finally reached the emergency room they found Wilson and Cameron standing over House's bed while helping a slew of nurses and ER doctors trying to treat his symptoms. The only problem was that none of them knew what was wrong with him. The information they gathered didn't give them any clues as to the cause of pain and vomiting. Ideas were being put out there about ulcers and even stomach cancer but for some reason they just didn't fit. Tritter, who by all rights didn't even belong there, took one look at the ailing doctor and knew exactly what was wrong with him.

The detective looked at Wilson. "His Vicodin, you gave it back to him I presume?"

"What the hell is he doing here?" Wilson asked Cuddy, the anger in his voice clear. "This is no time to be making points about his addiction."

"But that is what's killing him," proclaimed the detective. "Look at his eyes; they're red. I've seen that before. The first time he was administered to the hospital you took him off the pain meds. When he got better you gave them back. And now he's back here."

Cameron's eyes got wide. "Are you saying…"

"He's being poisoned. Last time I saw someone with eyes like that they died from arsenic," Tritter stated simply.


	76. Love Never Broke Anyone's Heart

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man**

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**Chapter Seventy-Six: Love Never Broke Anyone's Heart**

The room was silent aside from the sound of rubbing fabric as Cuddy paced back and forth, wringing her hands in front of her. Cameron tried to keep hidden the fact that she was crying but the attempt was miserably failed. Chase stared at his hands which lay upon the table, afraid to move or say anything. Wilson's head was down, his forehead resting against his arms. And Foreman sat there openly glaring at the detective who leaned against the wall in the corner near the door, his arms crossed over his chest. All of sudden he seemed to be part of the group without so much as a 'hey, let's be friends'. There were a lot of choice words that he wanted to use but kept them secreted away inside less he make things worse for himself. After all, he was still trying to figure out how to get out of the predicament of being charged with breaking and entering. But that could wait until later. Right now the only thing that mattered was House. The guy could be such a royal pain in the ass but who would want to poison him with something as deadly as arsenic? And then he found himself wondering if the levels in House's body would be enough to kill him.

They would all be lost without the cantankerous doctor around. Including him. If anything happened to House he knew that it would just destroy Wilson and there was no telling whether or not he'd be able to survive without his lover.

"How long does the fucking test take?" Chase suddenly said, breaking the gloom of silence that hung in the air around them.

An hour had passed since the Emergency Room doctors had started taking care of House. The little known secret of the ER; they'd dealt with the likes of arsenic poisoning before, along with other deadly poisons. Sent away so that they wouldn't get in the way the group converged in the little room adjacent to House's office. And that's where they had been sitting ever since. Before leaving Cuddy had been told that they would test House for arsenic but would start treating him for it right away just to be on the safe side. The antidote was safe so if it wasn't arsenic, no harm, no fowl. Aside from making Wilson a jumbled mess of nerves and emotions.

"Maybe I should call the lab," voiced Cuddy, still pacing and quickly getting on Foreman's nerves. "Maybe they don't realize that the test for House is top priority."

"I'm sure they know," Chase remarked.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Cameron managed to say, her voice somewhat quiet and nearly a whisper. "Arsenic…it's deadly. What if…"

Much to their surprise it was Detective Tritter that answered. "If you catch it early enough the person poisoned can survive. I know of an officer that survived doses of arsenic when he and his wife were going through a nasty divorce. The roughest part is going to be the aftermath. This guy was forced into retirement because it took him months before he could walk without assistance and if I remember correctly he lost the feeling in the tips of his fingers. When House pulls through this, and he will since he's such a stubborn ass, he'll have some recovering to do but he'll be fine.

"Shouldn't you guys be trying to figure out _who_ would poison House? Doesn't that seem like the more logical thing to do instead of sitting there trying to decide how long his road to recovery will be?" asked Foreman.

"I would assume that list is a long one," remarked the detective. "Has he pissed off anyone in general these last…oh, let's within the last week or two?"

"Just the cops," Cameron said.

"I highly doubt they did it," Cuddy replied off-hand.

"How about not who but _how_?" posed Chase. "How did they manage to poison him? I'm pretty sure he's not crazy enough to eat food from unlikely sources. And we already know that this is an isolated case so it's not like he picked it up while eating at a restaurant."

"We haven't been to any restaurants," Wilson spoke-up. His words were muffled with his head done but they were able to make out what he said.

"I bet I know how they did it," suggested the detective. They all looked in his direction. "When you spend enough time with the doctor you see that he's quite dependent on those lovely little pills. Putting the arsenic in with them would be a great way to go about poisoning him. And the person who did it might think we'd chalk it up to some mistake with the company manufacturing the pills. Unfortunately that plan won't work."

Chase leaned back in his chair, his hands falling into his lap. "You really think it's the Vicodin? Why would anyone spike his medication? Better yet, how would they do it? House gets his pills from the pharmacy here in the hospital."

"Has he ever pissed off someone working in the pharmacy?" Tritter inquired, an eyebrow cocked in question.

Cameron shook her head. "Not that we're aware of."

The conversation was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. They all turned to watch a young man in a lab coat walk into the room. He didn't say anything or look at any of them but Cuddy as he walked toward her, a report in his hand. He passed it off to her and quickly disappeared from the room, almost like he was afraid of people knowing who he was or perhaps he was just rather shy. The air in the room grew heavy as Cuddy flipped open the file and began to read the sheet of paper contained within. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"So?" prompted Chase. "What's the verdict?"

Wilson still hadn't budged.

"Tests came back positive for arsenic poisoning. There's been a notation made that it looks to have been caught early enough." She clearly hesitated before telling them the next part. "And it seems the detective is right; someone put this in his medication."

Tritter stood, walking toward the door. "With your word I will have this place swarming with cops in a matter of minutes. We'll start talking to everyone that works the pharmacy. All you have to do is say the word."

Cuddy gave him a leveled look of determination. "Go ahead. But make sure to keep the cops to a minimum. I don't want to create a panic."

Tritter was out the door and gone before anybody else could speak. Then Cameron stood, her legs slightly shaky. She told them that she was going to go pay their ill friend a visit. By now he would be in the Intensive Care Unit and allowed to have visitors. Chase and Foreman were quick to agree going with her. Chase wanted to go mainly to keep an eye on her. He wanted to make sure that he was there when she started to fall apart for real; which would be in a more private setting, he knew. But one could never be too prepared. Cuddy was left alone with Wilson, who remained as still as a statue. She settled into the chair closest to him and ran a hand up and down his back soothingly.

"He's going to be okay, Wilson."

His shoulders began to shake as he started crying. Without saying a word she draped her arm over his back, placed her free hand on his arm and rested her cheek on his shoulder; all in an attempt to give him some comfort.


	77. Making Changes

**Title: **Mending a Broken Man**

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**Chapter Seventy-Seven: Making Changes**

She tried to get him to go home but he wouldn't have any of it. No matter how many times she told him that someone would always be keeping an eye on House he refused to go home to sleep in a comfortable bed instead of getting aching muscles from sleeping in the uncomfortable hospital chairs. He wanted to be by House's side. She thought about telling him that he was banned from the ICU to see if that would get it through his head that he needed to rest and not worry so much. But she couldn't quite bring herself to say those words to him. She could already see that his heart was breaking, even though the prognosis was good. By some freak accident the Vicodin actually kept the poisoning from being too bad. At least, that's what they were saying because they couldn't figure out what it wasn't so bad with the number of pills that House liked to pop in any given day. She figured that perhaps the arsenic itself was weak. Not that it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the fact that House was going to be just fine. Or at least he was going to live. There was talk of him being in more pain than he was normally and maybe having trouble walking. The doctors, there were three of them, treating him kept telling her they wouldn't be able to give a precise and thorough prognosis until he woke up. For the time being they wanted him to remain asleep. The longer he slept while they treated him the less chance of him waking up in intense pain.

Wilson heard all of this but it never really sank in; he just wanted to sit there in silence. The look in his eyes telling anyone who looked at him how lost he was inside.

He wouldn't even leave the room when Tritter posted a uniformed office outside the door. Something that Cuddy readily agreed to. Someone with access to the pharmacy, and maybe even the rest of the hospital, had been poisoning one of her best friends. If the detective thought it was a good idea to have an officer posted then she wasn't going to argue with him. Anything to make sure that Wilson walked out of the hospital with House at his side.

She left the oncologist sitting at House's bedside and headed toward the pharmacy on the first floor near the clinic. That's where Tritter said he would be if she wanted to have a word with him. And she did indeed want to have a word with him. There was a lot on her mind, a lot that needed to be said. Some of the things should have remained unknown to the detective but for once she didn't care about hospital regulations. This was her chance to make a difference in what was quickly turning into a downward spiral. She just hoped the detective was in the mood to listen.

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Chase sat in his car outside his apartment, the engine running, the radio off. He felt empty inside, numb, void of feeling. The day had started out so promising and ended so disastrously. Now he wasn't sure what to do. Should he go inside and act as though nothing in his life had changed? Or should he head down to the nearest bar and try drowning his sorrows in a few glasses of beer? He didn't make an effort to do either one, remaining in the car, unmoving. His mind kept playing back over the last hour or two, seeing again how much had changed. He tried not to think about House. Tried not to think about someone actually going out of their way to poison a doctor. Who the hell did things like that? He thought it was crazy when someone actually shot House but to poison him? Whoever it was had to be seriously fucked up in the head. He hoped that Tritter would put as much effort into this case as he did whenever trying to pin something on House.

And then he quickly switched gears from thinking about House to thinking about Cameron. She finally managed to pull herself together shortly after they were told that House would recover, that he would indeed live through the night and into the next day. That's when she finally agreed to let him drive her home. They all needed to rest, the whole lot of them emotionally exhausted. So he drove her home, thinking that maybe she wouldn't mind if he slept on her couch instead of going all the way home.

But she did mind.

She said as much when he asked.

Then she went on to say that right now she didn't want to be in a relationship, that there was so much going on at the moment that a relationship seemed like a bad idea. And that's all she said before opening the passenger door and slipping out. It broke his heart to hear her say those words, to watch her walk away without once glancing back at him to see if he was okay.

And now he was sitting in front of his apartment unsure of what he should do, unsure of how to handle the sudden fog of grief that had settled over him. There had to be a way to make things better. Or to at least make the pain go away.

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"What's this about?" Tritter asked, his hands on his hips. Cuddy had dragged the detective into an empty examine room to have a word with him. He'd been busy talking to one of the pharmacists when she interrupted him.

"I came here to ask a mighty big favor of you and I understand if you decide not to go along with it," she told him. "But at least I will have peace in the knowledge of knowing that I asked."

"Go on."

"I want you to drop the charges against House for the hacking," she said point blank.

He looked at her somewhat like she was crazy. "Excuse me?"

"The two of them have suffered so much," she said. "The car accident, Wilson's battle with cancer. Now this? To be honest with you, I'm not sure how much more Wilson can take before he starts to fall apart. Once that happens things are going to go down hill drastically for House. Despite what you might think about him he does care for his friends and I happen to know that Wilson is the center of his world. I can't help but worry that all this stress that Wilson is dealing with is going to bring the cancer back and…what if he doesn't find any reason to fight it? What if doesn't survive? House won't be far behind him and I cannot just stand by while I watch two of my best friends spiral down into a dark pit. Please, just let the charges go. You can keep the case against Foreman. But let this one go, just this once," she said, closing her eyes so that she wouldn't have to see the look on his face.

A moment of silence passed before he spoke. "I…I'll see what I can do."


	78. No Easy Way

**Thanks for all the reviews! You guys are awesome.

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Chapter Seventy-Eight: No Easy Way 

It ticked him off that Cuddy would put herself in a compromising position to get House off the hook once again. He could not believe that his boss was about to get away with something worse than breaking and entering. And while he had these dark, angry thoughts he knew that it was wrong for him to feel so selfish. House was fighting for his life, and making a damn good go at it, and here he was mad that he still had to go to court. He should really count himself lucky that it wasn't him lying in the bed trying to fight off the effects of poisoning. Not only did House have to make it through the initial treatment but then he had to deal with the consequences, the long-term affects of the poison. There would be pain, something the diagnostician didn't need any more of, but if luck was on his side the long-term prognosis would end up being good.

He looked up from the folder that he had set upon the table in hopes of reading. It was an old case that took place before any of them joined House's team and he was interested to see what he could learn from it, always striving to be a better doctor. Unfortunately his mind had been anywhere but on the paperwork resting before him. Now he watched as the detective that made his life a living hell came walking down the hallway like he was the most important person in the world. No wonder he didn't get along with House; the two of them were so much alike and yet so different. They both had their pride, the need to prove that they were the best at what they did. At least he could respect House. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to respect Tritter, or if the man even deserved such a thing.

Tritter came into the room, staying near the door, keeping the distance between them. "We need to talk."

"I'm busy," Foreman said, indicating the file in front of him. Tritter didn't have to know that it was years old or that he hadn't even been reading it.

"It's about your case."

Foreman wanted to roll his eyes but kept the urge under control. "What now?"

"There is a deal on the table," the detective replied. Judging by the sound of his voice he wasn't too happy about the turn of events. "You spend six months on probation and pay a small fee; problem goes out the window without any jail time."

Ever the skeptic he narrowed his eyes. "What's in it for you?"

"Nothing," Tritter told him. "If it were up to me you would be going to jail. Count yourself lucky."

Foreman didn't know what else to say. Had Cuddy said something to the detective about seeing if the charges could be reduced? Had he been thinking ill of her all this time when in fact she was helping him? This was definitely one of those rare times when he felt like kicking himself. He looked up to gauge Tritter's feelings about the proposed deal but the detective was already long gone, his news having been delivered.

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Wilson looked back over his shoulder one last time to make sure that House was still blissfully asleep before slipping out the door. A few minutes ago he had received a call from Cuddy. She expressed needing to have a word with him and that it was important he get down to her office as soon as possible, like now. Thankfully House had been asleep when the call came in because Wilson really wasn't in the mood to argue with his lover. He made a promise to stay by House's bedside, a promise that until now he had been keeping. Every time the doctor came in to check House's stats he would slip out for coffee, maybe a little food and to slip into the bathroom. House wasn't bothered by that. But what if he woke up to find the room empty? Wilson didn't want to have deal with an irate House. He hoped the trip to see Cuddy would be quick.

And worth it.

He knocked softly on her office door before walking in. Much to his dismay Tritter was sitting in one of the chairs reserved for visitors. A tiny part of him was happy that the detective had been poking around, able to diagnose House's illness, but why did he have to hang around the hospital like a constant reminder of failure? It really irked Wilson. But he managed to keep the unpleasant words from spilling out. That was something he could do later.

"Make it quick," Wilson said, anger tainting his voice. "I have things to do."

Cuddy glared at him, letting the curt tone of his voice slide. "Detective Tritter would like to have a word with you about House and the charges against him."

"Can't that wait until a later date?" Wilson asked. He did not want to talk about such things right now. There was enough on his plate as it was; why make matters worse?

"Actually," Tritter said as he turned in his chair to face the oncologist, "I thought you would want to hear this right away. There's a deal on the table for Dr. House."

Could anyone blame Wilson if he was leery? He'd learned enough from House over the years. "And?"

"A week in jail, a year of probation and a hefty fine," the detective told him.

Wilson shook his head. "No jail. Have you seen him? He wouldn't be able to hold his own in a cell. He's not healthy enough."

"Which I have already pointed out," Cuddy said, her tone even and friendly. "But given the alternative, a week in jail should be a cakewalk for him. Hell, knowing House he'll make a few new friends."

"And the probation, what does that include?" asked Wilson. He crossed his arms over his chest, most of the fight having gone out of him. He hadn't been sleeping well lately, his moods coming and going like summer rainstorms in Florida. "Because I know how your twisted mind works, Tritter. You can't forbid him to take his medication. Despite what you might think House actually needs that Vicodin."

"It nearly got him killed."

"Only because someone spiked it with poison. Why aren't you trying to find the person responsible for it?"

"I am," Tritter defended himself. The detective stood and shortened the distance between them. He could see the affect that being in love with the hard-ass diagnostician had taken on the younger man. There were bits and pieces in his attitude that reminded Tritter of the stubborn doctor. That bothered him. "But this hacking crime is quite pressing and my captain wants it finished. Either take the deal or he'll go to court where his sentence could be worse."

"The probation?"

"Details about that still have to be hammered out between the DA and Mrs. Warner," said Tritter. "And House would only be incarcerated when he is proven healthy enough. The probation would start immediately, though."

"It really is a good deal," Cuddy said softly.

And Wilson knew that she was right. House wouldn't be happy about spending a week in prison but it was truly better than the alternative. "Fine," he finally relented. "He'll take the deal. But no fishy business when it comes to the probation."


	79. Everything and Nothing

**Note: **We are nearing the end...anybody excited to see how things tie-up?**

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**Chapter Seventy-Nine: Everything and Nothing**

With everything that had been going on he wasn't surprised in the least to feel a tad rundown. Dealing with the turmoil of House's being sick and the stress of Tritter being around was enough to make anyone feel like shit. So the next time Wilson found himself with a free moment he closed the door to the office, shut off the light and lay on the couch, his arm draped over his eyes. He could vividly feel every aching fiber in his exhausted body. When had he last gone home, last thought about himself? Is this really what he wanted from a relationship? House did things to him that he could never find the words to explain but this was clearly no way to live his life. Why did he insist on staying at House's bedside when he knew the doctor was no longer in danger? They had taken the pills away and given him a fresh batch. Cuddy oversaw the procedure to make sure that no one tampered with the pills. House was on the mend. He was pissing people off left and right in good ole House fashion. And surprisingly, Tritter was working his ass off to find the reason behind the poisoning. According to him they had to figure out if it was an isolated case or a shipment of tainted drugs. They all knew the truth, not a single one of them surprised that someone would poison House. After all, a crazed maniac had shot him in his own conference room. Why not take the next step and poison him?

Wilson sighed, so much for his relaxing. It was one thing to give his body downtime but he really needed to do the same for his brain. How could he shut the damned thing off? He left his arm fall 'way to join the other one on his stomach. He tried to think soothing, none-House related thoughts and before he knew it he drifted off. It had been quite some time since he'd slept soundly, waking every five minutes or so to make sure that House was okay. The couch was the most pleasant thing he had rested upon in days. He drifted blissfully away, his body finally getting the rest it so desperately needed. And for once, with his eyes closed, he didn't dream of a damned thing. No horrible nightmares, no recurring themes. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing.

Aside from the slight burning of the still healing cut on his hand. It should have, by all rights, been healed completely by now but with the way he'd been running himself ragged…The burning sensation intensified, growing worse and breaking through the cloud of sleep lingering around him. His eyes popped open. In the dim light of the office he could see that for some reason he had dug his nails into the palm of his hand, reopening the healing wound. Warm blood marred his palm, some dripping onto his shirt. For the next few minutes he lay there staring at his hand and trying to make sense of what had happened. On some subconscious level was he hurting himself? Or had it been completely involuntary, a mere reaction of the muscles in his hand? He'd probably never figure it out.

"What are you doing?"

He looked to his side. Cuddy was standing there studying him. When had she come into the office and why hadn't she bothered to turn the light on? She really could have given him quite the scare.

"Relaxing…or at least I was," he told her.

"In House's office?"

Wilson closed his eyes again, relaxing his hand, letting the tension ease from his muscles. "I can't….I tried my office…."

"Not working so well for you after the incident with that patient, huh?" Cuddy asked, her voice soft and understanding.

"No," Wilson finally admitted. "Every time I go in there…it's like the walls are closing in around me. All these bad images pop into my head and I think about how I could have died or…"

"But you didn't," she said. "You got a nasty cut on your hand. You lived to see another day, Wilson. It's going to take time, I'm sure, but eventually you'll be able to use your office again."

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "That's all fine and dandy…but…" He let out a frustrated sigh. Why could he not find the words he wanted to express how he really felt about the situation? When he'd lain on the couch in his office all he could think about was sharp objects and blood. He saw himself lying on the floor with a knife sticking out of his chest. It had been enough to send him stumbling back out into the hallway and to House's office. Relative peace greeted him. A sanctuary among the chaos. He'd fallen asleep. He'd finally felt comfortable, safe enough to let down his guard and sleep. But how could he impress upon Cuddy the real importance? "What do you want?" he asked instead.

"Tritter sent over the paperwork for House's deal," she told him.

Sitting up, he swung his legs over the side. She settled onto the couch next to him, flicking on a lamp. The sudden light hurt Wilson's eyes but he quickly adjusted. He took the paper from her and began to read through to see what sort of things were included in the probation. He wasn't going to let House sign something that would end up causing him pain in the long run. Oddly enough Tritter had not requested that House go through rehab. That was the one thing that Wilson really feared would happen. In fact, the drug wasn't mentioned at all. That puzzled him, made him wonder what the hell the detective was up to. Did Tritter have some sort of ulterior motive or…could he have possibly gotten over the little tiff with House?

That wasn't possible.

Maybe when hell froze over.

Last time he checked New Jersey was the only place frozen.

"Is that suitable for you? Do you think he can go along with it?" Cuddy asked him.

Wilson slowly nodded. "Yeah…I think he can handle this. And if not I'll make sure that he does."

"How?"

"I have my ways."

"I bet," Cuddy said, patting him on the knee before standing. "Tritter wants that back by the end of the day. He says that the sooner it is signed the quicker everything gets settled and the harder it would be for the DA to change his mind. Get him to sign that paperwork."

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"You look like shit."

"Gee, thanks. I love you, too, House," he said as the door closed behind him. He was happy to see that his lover looked as bright eyed and bushy tailed as House possibly could. The light had finally come back to House's blue eyes. That was always a good sign, as was the mischievous glint that accompanied it.

"I'm serious," House remarked. "You look like shit. Are you feeling okay?"

"Just tired." Wilson plopped down in the now all too familiar chair. "Been a busy couple of days. What with worrying about you and dealing with Tritter."

At the mention of the detective's name House made a sour face. "What the hell does he want now?"

"To put the case of your hacking in the past." Wilson held up the paperwork. "This is your deal. A week in jail, only to be started once you're healthy. A sizeable fine and then a years worth of probation. I told him that you would take it."

House took the papers. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"Because I don't need you going to jail and starting some drug business or other questionable empire," remarked Wilson dryly.

"….okay."

"And because I really don't want to spend more than a week without you. Please sign the paperwork, House."

His lover looked at him like 'please' was a foreign word. But much to Wilson's surprise House took the offered pen and scrawled his name at the bottom of the page. Wilson made sure to check when he got it back that House had indeed signed his name. When he saw that it read Gregory House he was happy. Maybe now things would finally get better. Maybe now they could finally put all this shit behind them and have some happy days.


	80. Whenever You Come Around

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Chapter Eighty: Whenever You Come Around 

It was only a matter of three more days before House was officially discharged from the hospital. That didn't mean he wanted to go straight home. There was finally a patient for his team and though he was warned by just about every doctor- including Wilson, Cuddy and the ducklings- that he should take it easy, he insisted on staying at the hospital to oversee things. However, he spent most of his time just sitting in front of the computer perusing eBay to see what sort of things were out there. It always marveled him to see what stupid things dumb people were willing to pay such a high price for. Plus, maybe he could luck into a cheap guitar. One could never have enough guitars.

But this particular day, when the sun came up, was full of surprises. House was sitting in his office in front of the computer. He had been bouncing a little red ball off the wall and catching it with his cane when he heard someone at the door to his office. Expecting it to be one of the ducklings with a report on the patient he turned to look. And his heart just about stopped beating. The ball fell to the floor completely forgotten and rolled under his desk.

"Get out," he growled. The last thing he wanted to do was deal with the person standing there staring at him with a grin that could rival the Cheshire cat. He was still tired from his battle with the poison, though he regained more strength with every passing day. That didn't mean he wanted to deal with this person.

Instead of leaving Jacob came closer. "Nice to see you out of bed, Greg."

House stood, his chair almost falling to the ground. "Go away, Jacob."

He bent down and picked up the ball, then started tossing it from hand to hand. "You amaze me. You're so strong. How do you do it, Greg, hm? Tell me, how is it that you get hit by a car and poisoned but you're still here?"

"Please leave me alone, Jacob," he said in an un-House way. He took a step back and then another. For every step he took back Jacob took one forward. Eventually House found himself with his back against the wall, nowhere for him to go. He might have tried getting around Jacob if he was stronger but he knew that any attempt he made would only be failed. By now there was a glint in Jacob's eyes that managed to put House on edge. He didn't usually scare. He handled whatever was thrown at him with a blink of an eye. But this…he wanted nothing to do with Jacob and prayed that someone would come along to get rid of the man from his past.

"Now why would I want to leave you alone? There's just no fun in that."

Someone came through the door behind Jacob but House was the only one who noticed. "Isn't poisoning me bad enough, Jacob? Leave me alone. I never did anything to you…"

"You're right, you never did anything to me," confirmed Jacob. "But you sure did make school more enjoyable."

"Grow up and move on, Jacob. We have nothing to do with each other anymore."

"Ah, but don't we?" said Jacob, letting the ball drop to the floor. "Do you remember a beautiful blue-eyed, blond-haired girl that passed through here? She had a birthmark on her left hip that looked slightly like a bunny rabbit."

House refused to admit that he didn't know who Jacob was talking about. He didn't remember a patient's face or their name. For him it was all about the case, the ailment and nothing else. So he decided to just keep his mouth shut lest he make things worse by admitting he had no idea who Jacob was talking about.

"You don't remember, do you? That comes as no surprise. I keep hearing all these wonderful things about you," remarked Jacob. "Talk to anybody in the state of New Jersey, especially any doctor, and everybody says the same damned thing. 'His bedside manner is lacking but he's a damned fine doctor, good at what he does'," recited Jacob with distaste in the words. "When I got sick I just knew that I had to come see you. It was my chance to see you for who you really were. You see, three years ago my little sister got sick. Nobody could figure out what it was that she had. They sent her to you. And she died."

"It happens," House said. "I can't save everyone. I tried…"

"You couldn't even keep her alive long enough for me to get back to the country," he nearly yelled. "Great doctor my ass. My kid sister is dead because of you."

House glared at Jacob. "Sounds like divine retribution if you ask me. After what you did to me in school…you know what they say, karma's a bitch."

Jacob took another step toward House. "There's that famous attitude, that whole you-don't-matter-a-damn-to-me winning personality of yours. Face it, Greg, you killed my sister. Not me. I'm not the one with the medical degree and so called outstanding career. That would be you. And yet, you failed her. What kind of doctor fails his patient?"

"What kind of person poisons a doctor?" fired back House.

"The kind that wants to see you dead," yelled Jacob. "If she can't be alive then why should you? She spent her time volunteering with the elderly and raising money for starving children. On the weekends she'd be at the local animal shelters. My sister was a wonderful person until she met you. You ended her life and I want to make sure that yours is over, too. You don't deserve to live another day."

"And neither do you," Tritter said, pressing his gun momentarily to Jacob's back. "Turn around with your hands behind your head."

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Wilson studied House with loving eyes. The two of them were standing outside in the warming sun, the snow-covered world around them exceptionally bright. When he'd heard the sirens and the sound of gunfire he had completely freaked out. He was in with a patient, just about done with telling her the cancer was in remission when all the commotion started. Of course, when he heard that sound the first thing that came to mind was that day so long ago when House had been shot. Wilson never wanted to relive that moment. He could have lost the one person that meant the world to him. So this time he wasted no time in making sure he got to the center of the commotion.

And until then he hadn't realized that he'd been holding his breath.

Tritter was busily snapping handcuffs on Jacob's wrists, a knee in the irate man's back as he lay on the floor cursing a blue streak, blood oozing from a wound in his left thigh. House was standing behind his desk safely in his office, his eyes never straying from the scene before him. Once Tritter got Jacob shackled he allowed one of the doctors to treat the gunshot wound. There was quite the flurry of activity. Cuddy had a lot to say but at that moment he couldn't remember a single word to escape her lips. And Stacy had been there, as usual. This was not going to look well for the hospital. Someone had to see about some damage control and she made sure to be on top of everything. The ducklings all came running, no doubt thinking the same unpleasant thoughts that had been bouncing around in his head.

He had to wait two hours before he could be alone with House.

And they'd been standing outside in the chilly afternoon for a good twenty minutes without a word passing between them. The silence was getting to him. Not to mention, he'd started shivering fifteen minutes ago and wanted to go inside. However, he couldn't leave House outside alone and the doctor showed no sign of wanting to head in.

"What did he do to you…?" Wilson finally asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"I killed his sister."

"That's not what I asked."

House leaned on the wall, refusing to look at Wilson. "In school…he was a bully. He liked to pick on everybody but for some reason I was always his main target….don't ask me why. I honestly can't tell you. I can't remember ever having provoked his anger."

"That's a surprise," Wilson said.

Either House didn't hear him or he chose to ignore him. "One day he and his group of friends cornered me behind the school. We were the only people around and the shape of the building…it kept us hidden. His friends held me down while he did…stuff." A shiver ran down House's spine.

"What…sort of things?"

House finally looked at him. "I would really rather not talk about it. For months I suffered from nightmares and I just…" He let out a shaky sigh. "Please…"

Wilson drew him into an embrace, it was the only thing he could think to do. The two of them stood there in the fading late, holding each other. Wilson rested his head against House's chest so that he could hear his heart beating, the sound the most soothing thing he'd heard in so long.


	81. Peace of Mind

Chapter Eighty-One: Peace of Mind

Jacob spent the night in jail, much to Wilson's peace of mind. Unfortunately, House spent the night tossing and turning, his mind tormented by the events of the day. Wilson did what he could to soothe his lover but every time he touched House the doctor would jerk away from him and at one point he nearly fell out of the bed. Unable to get any sleep with the constant motion, Wilson shuffled out into the living room and made himself comfortable on the couch. No sooner did his head hit the pillow then he was out, finally resting his tired body and exhausted mind.

Morning rolled around with the sounds of House banging around in the kitchen. Slowly Wilson came out his dreams, smashing back down into reality. His body was sore. He attributed it to sleeping on the couch, which really should be replaced but he knew if he brought that up with House there would be some sort of argument. So he let the idea slip from his mind. Tonight he would, hopefully, be sleeping in bed with a more peaceful House. Maybe they would have a little fun and fall asleep blissfully in each other's arms. Just the thought of it brought a smile to his face.

"Why are you smiling? You're going to be late for work. Don't you have an appointment at nine?" House asked as he shuffled out of the kitchen and toward the bedroom. He was already dressed and ready for work.

"I have appointments all damn day," muttered Wilson as he made his way to the bedroom behind House. While the diagnostician busied himself in the bathroom Wilson got ready for work. There seemed to be a calm of sorts hanging over the apartment. It unsettled Wilson, a chill trickling down his spine. He attributed it to the night before but knew that it was the calm before the storm. How many times had he experienced a similar feeling? He leaned against the dresser with his eyes closed, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Sleeping again?" asked House as he returned to the bedroom.

Wilson opened his eyes, gazing at his lover. "Nah, just thinking."

"About?"

He smiled. "You. What else?"

"If you have me on the brain all day how are you going to get anything done?" House teased before kissing him.

Wilson slid his arms around House's waist, inhaling the smell of his…well, the smell of him. He never could tell exactly what it was; shampoo, cologne, or…? It didn't matter to him one way or the other. "I say we play hooky. Let's spend the day here at the apartment, just the two of us. The world can do without for a day."

"Except I have a patient and you just said that you had a day full of appointments," House remarked. "I know you too well, Wilson, you won't put off your work for an entire day. Maybe an hour or two but you are too dedicated. You care too much."

"You're going to make me go to work, aren't you?"

House just smiled.

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At the hospital they were forced to split in the lobby but not before sharing a parting kiss. House, for once, didn't really care who caught them showing their affection. By now the entire hospital staff knew that he and Wilson were an item. And from the things he heard whispered about there had been a bet to see just how long it would take for the two of them to actually get together. It should have bothered him knowing that the hospital workers kept tabs on him and Wilson but the only thing he was really mad about was not getting the chance to add his own bet to the pool. Now that would have been some pleasantly easy money.

Cuddy waited until they had parted company before approaching him. "We need to talk, House."

"About?" he said before starting toward the elevator. He was do to work in the clinic for three hours that morning but needed to have a word with at least one of his ducklings to see where they stood with their patient.

His boss, a one time fling, followed him. "Jacob."

House stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. "I don't want to talk about him."

"House, this isn't like some I-want-to-know-your-deep-dark-secret conversation," she told him. "Early this morning I got a call from Tritter. Seems he spent most of the night working his ass off. I think he's frustrated that he let you get away with hacking so he focused all that anger on someone else."

"Would you hurry it up? I don't care about the damn detective's wellbeing."

Cuddy sighed. "After everything that happened he was allowed free access to all the staff members who work in the pharmacies. He found Jacob's accomplice," she said, searching House's eyes for any reaction. "Seems Jacob slipped the guy the pills and since you'd pissed of this particular pharmacist he was all too happy to be of help. Of course, from what I understand, the picture that Tritter painted for him was enough to get the guy to squeal on Jacob."

"Good for him," House said, resuming his walk toward the elevator.

"House, this is good news. Tritter said that with this kind of information he should be able to put Jacob behind bars for quite a few years. He's booking him on attempted murder," she said.

"He deserves to rot in hell." House stepped onto the elevator and before Cuddy could get out another word the doors closed. He found himself alone in the small mechanical box and for the first time in days he was actually smiling. Peace of mind. With Jacob in jail he could have peace of mind. At least that was one less person he had to worry about trying to kill him and that small nugget of knowledge was enough to make him almost giddy, if he was the sort to get giddy. When he stepped off the elevator there was a twinkle in his eyes that had not been present for days. It was time to get down to work. He had a patient to cure.


	82. Good News, Bad News

**Note: **I apologize for the wait. I was feeling rather sick. And since this weekend is a holiday, I'm doing tomorrow's update today. And yes, this is the end of this story. But please keep a watch for my next House fiction and a story entitled _Rocky Road_; this is a crossover of sorts which will involve House. Thank you everybody who took the time to read and review this story. I love you guys!

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**Chapter Eighty-Two: Good News, Bad News**

He sat before the window in his office. From his position he could see the millions of people that flocked around the hospital day in and day out. There was a group of children having a snowball fight while two little girls tried to build a snowman. For once the sun was not out so the world wasn't a blinding white that hurt the eyes. A mother pushed her child in a stroller, her husband right beside her, the two of them deep in conversation. Teenagers went by on bikes, backpacks filled with books as they returned from school or headed toward the library. An ambulance pulled up to the emergency room, lights swirling but the siren turned off. All around him the world was going on, people were living their lives.

And here he sat in his office after working for nearly three hours straight. He finally had a little time for himself, a few fleeting minutes before his next patient would arrive and he could deliver the news. Whether it would be good or bad he wasn't sure. Either way, he knew what the outcome would be. They always cried, tears of happiness and tears of sorrow. He saw them all. Every once in a while he would get a patient that showed no emotion when the news was delivered, even if it was a death sentence. For some reason he found those people to be the most interesting of them all. What was going on in their heads at that time in their life? Were they thinking about their family, about the things they still wanted to accomplish before they got too sick? Or did they simply think of it as an act of mercy, their easy escape from a world that could be so cruel? In a passing conversation with Cameron he'd learned that earlier in the day a man with Hepatitis C, a fatal disease, had shot himself in the stomach in an attempt to end his own life. Though they fought like hell in the ER to save his life in the long run his heart gave out. He said all the things a doctor was supposed to say about such a case. Meanwhile, in his mind, he was trying to figure out why they fought so hard for someone who wanted to die. Wasn't it his right to choose whether he lived or died? Why suffer the liver failure and every other complication that Hepatitis C presented when he could go out on his own terms? It was his body, his life, his choice to make. But at the same time Wilson knew that every doctor had taken an oath to save lives and that meant even those who no longer wanted to be a part of the living.

So deep in his thoughts, a moral battle unspoken, he didn't hear the door to his office open or the person cross the room toward him. He continued to stare out the window at all the people below, especially the children, wondering what sort of tragedies lay ahead of them. Everybody suffered one way or the other, whether it was them doing the suffering or someone they loved. He still had trouble figuring out which was worse. He suffered. His heart was torn apart while he watched House suffer. There really was no easy choice between the two. Somebody always got hurt in the long run…

"Wilson?"

The sudden voice startled him. He turned to see that House was standing behind him, a frown upon his face. He tried to smile and knew that it probably didn't look right. "Hey, how's your patient?"

"Better," he replied. "Looks like the puzzle might have finally been figured out. Unless, of course, the patient was lying to me."

"Everybody lies," Wilson said before House could. He knew the line was coming. It was like House's motto, the words he chose to live his life by.

"Something on your mind?"

Wilson shook his head. "No, just taking a breather between patients, that's all."

"Everybody lies," House echoed.

Wilson chose to ignore him. "What did Cuddy want to talk about this morning?"

"Jacob. Looks like Detective Tritter finally found a way to do his job," House told him. "From what I've heard that little bastard will be spending the next few years of his life behind some pretty bars. I think it's the perfect place for him."

This time when Wilson smiled it was a little more genuine. "That definitely is good news. I think I'll sleep better knowing that he isn't poking around, waiting for that next opportunity to jump out of the shadows."

"Wilson, what aren't you telling me?" House asked, studying his lover. He could tell that something was off. He knew Wilson too well.

"There's nothing-"

"The cancer," interrupted House. "It came back, didn't it?" Judging by the way that Wilson refused to look at him, his eyes once again gazing out the window, he knew what the answer was. "You're strong, James. This won't beat you. I won't let it."

"There's nothing you can do about it." Wilson turned back to him, unshed tears glistening in his eyes.

"There is a lot I can do about it," House said, falling onto the couch beside Wilson and taking his hand. "I can love you the rest of my life. I can stand by your side, be your shoulder to cry on, the crazy fuck that brings a smile to your face. You managed to beat it once, you can do it again."

"I don't know…"

"I do," House said with such strength that even Wilson was surprised. Where had this sentimental person come from? What happened to the wiseass? "I love you, Wilson. And I don't plan on going anywhere anytime soon so you better be prepared to fight with everything you have. Or I'll find a way to make your afterlife miserable."

Despite himself Wilson smiled. "Knowing you, you would." He rested his head on House's shoulder, closing his eyes. "With you by my side I should be able to beat anything. I love you, House."

"I love you, too."

**Fin**


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